“Sure, give her a drink—it’s tough bein’ a nut.”
Joe shook his head. “She ain’t to have any liquor. That’s her trouble—too much liquor,” he said, going round to the back of the ambulance. When he had paid for the gasoline he climbed into the cab.
Hienie said, “She O.K.?”
“Yeah, she’s asleep,” Joe returned, starting the engine.
Hienie offered him the jar. “Just one for the road,” he said.
Joe grabbed the jar and took a long pull. He handed it back with a deep sigh. “Pal,” he said, blowing out his leathery cheeks, “this is certainly a great little evenin’.”
After a couple more drinks, Hienie felt so merry he began to sing at the top of his voice.
Joe said hastily, “You can’t do that on this wagon.”
Hienie continued to bellow, counting his time by waving the jar to and fro.
Joe got scared and brought the ambulance to a standstill. “For Pete’s sake,” he said urgently, “pipe down. You’ll wake my patient up and maybe get the cops lookin’ us over.”