“Gin,” Dora said. “We don’t drink nothing but gin.”
Channing called to Dugan and said he wanted a bottle of gin and two glasses. At the bar the humpbacked wino had turned and was looking at the table. The face of the wino was expressionless.
“Would you like something?” Channing asked the wino.
“Go to hell,” the wino said. He said it with an effort. There was no more wine in his glass and he had seven cents in his pocket and wine was fifteen. He took a deep dragging breath and said, “You can go to hell.”
“Same to you,” Frieda yelled at the wino. “We want no part of you, you humpbacked freak.”
“Don’t say that,” Channing said mildly. “That isn’t nice.”
Frieda twisted in her chair and glowered at him. “Don’t you tell me how to talk. I’m a lady and I know how to talk.”
“All right,” Channing said.
“We’re both ladies, me and my friend Dora. That’s Dora there. My name’s Frieda.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I’m Newton Channing.”