"There's a fifth of Scotch in my studio, but I'm not pouring for any phony tricksters. I've been saving it till I sold a canvas."
"Scotch," sighed the stranger ecstatically. "Shades of the Loch Ness Monster! Quit scratching, Gertrude."
"Gertrude?"
"My cat—she's black. A handsome beastie if you overlook a hole in her head. A twenty-two caliber hole. Gertrude, materialize for the nice man."
Nothing happened, and Jerry diplomatically sought to ease a situation that was rapidly becoming embarrassing. "Maybe she's bashful."
"Not Gertrude. Just temperamental. She could materialize if she wanted to. She doesn't want to. Now take Junior...."
"Junior?"
"He's the conscientious type. Tries too hard, poor boy."
"About that Scotch," said Jerry. "You don't think maybe a couple of cups of black coffee...."
The stranger's face registered horror—and trust betrayed. "For shame, laddie. To be insulted in my darkest hour! Me, Captain Wully MacGreggor!"