Jenkins' eyes batted a little.
He cleared his throat. "Why, yes, sir; he told me a lot of funny things one night, sir. Don't suppose he would have done it, only him and me had an evening off and we—we—"
Jenkins seemed to hesitate.
"And you went on a bat together," suggested Billings, rubbing his hands pleasantly.
"It was, sir," Jenkins admitted, looking at me sadly. "Leastways, he sort o' loosened up as he got—got—"
"Pickled," Billings helped smoothly.
"Quite so, sir; there's some is that way always: some is taken other ways." Jenkins considered Billings moodily. "The power of the demon rum, sir."
"Ah, true!" sighed Billings, lifting his eyes.
"This here chap, he got to going on and all but crying about his cursed hard fate—them's his own words, sir—his cursed hard fate in having to drink water all the time and eat cow feed—"
"Eat what?"