"Your liquor―" Hell's bells! It was his liquor. No, it wasn't; it was―their liquor. Oh, the devil! It was much too mixed up to try to explain. "Sorry. You don't mind if I have a drink, do you?"
"I suppose not," his double said grudgingly. "Pour me one while you're about it."
"O.K.," Wilson assented, "then I'll explain." It was going to be much, much too difficult to explain until he had had a drink, he felt. As it was, he couldn't explain it fully to himself.
"It had better be good," the other warned him, and looked Wilson over carefully while he drank his drink.
Wilson watched his younger self scrutinizing him with confused and almost insupportable emotions. Couldn't the stupid fool recognize his own face when he saw it in front of him? If he could not see what the situation was, how in the world was he ever going to make it clear to him?
It had slipped his mind that his face was barely recognizable in any case, being decidedly battered and unshaven. Even more important, he failed to take into account the fact that a person does not look at his own face, even in mirrors, in the same frame of mind with which he regards another's face. No sane person ever expects to see his own face hanging on another.
Wilson could see that his companion was puzzled by his appearance, but it was equally clear that no recognition took place. "Who are you?" the other man asked suddenly.
"Me?" replied Wilson. "Don't you recognize me?"
"I'm not sure. Have I ever seen you before?"
"Well―not exactly," Wilson stalled. How did you go about telling another guy that the two of you were a trifle closer than twins? "Skip it―you wouldn't know about it."