“Not just yet; let’s go and liquidate.”
“I don’t drink,” Brant objected.
“The dickens you don’t! Since when?”
“Never mind the date—since I quit.”
“I’ll bet money that was no longer ago than yesterday. Come and take a cigar, then.”
“I don’t mind doing that, if you are thirsty enough to drink alone.”
“I am thirsty enough to envy the fellow who went and got himself drowned in a butt of Malmsey,” rejoined the reporter, linking arms with Brant and pointing like a trained retriever for the nearest pothouse.
“That thirst will be the death of you, my boy, if you are not careful,” ventured the older sinner, catching step.
“Don’t you lose any sleep about that. I know blessed well when to take a drink and when to let it alone.”
“Yes, I have met you before,” said Brant ironically. “You are one of a fair-sized crowd. The first ‘when’ is whenever you happen to think of it; the second is when the thing itself is temporarily out of reach.”