The man was a half-breed, and he wore a red woollen shirt. Worse, there was not a sign of a mirror behind the bar. It was distressing.
“Good morning, brother,” said Toppy, concealing his repugnance. “Might I ask you for a little information this pleasant morning?”
The half-breed grinned appreciatively but sceptically.
“Little drink, I guess you mean, don’t you?” said he. “Go ’head.”
Toppy bowed courteously.
“Thank you, brother, thank you. I am sorely puzzled about two little matters—where am I anyway, and if so, how did I get here?”
The grin on the half-breed’s face broadened. He pointed at the table in front of Toppy.
“You been sleeping there since ‘bout midnight las’ night,” he exclaimed.
Toppy waved his left hand to indicate his displeasure at the inadequacy of the bartender’s reply.
“Obvious, my dear Watson, obvious,” he said. “I know that I’m at this table, because here I am; and I know I’ve been sleeping here because I just woke up. Let’s broaden the range of our information. What town is this, if it is a town, and if it is, how did I happen to come here, may I ask?”