While Alice was serving up, Duffy woke. He got into a dressing-gown and came out into the sitting-room. He looked a lot worse than he felt.
Alice said, “Bill Duffy, go straight back to bed!”
“I wish you two wouldn’t pick on me,” Duffy said, sitting in an easy chair, “I’m feeling good. Hi, Sam, what about a drink?”
The other two looked at each other helplessly.
“A hopeless soak,” Sam said sadly. “You better go back.” Duffy shook his head. “You two birds had better be careful,” he said, “I’ve just had a little fast training, and I’ll get tough.”
McGuire settled the argument by producing a bottle of rum, a squeezer, some fresh limes, and a bottle of absinthe. He set about making up some Bacardi Crustas.
“Make ’em big and strong,” Duffy said, “I want to get cockeyed tonight.”
Alice looked round the kitchen door. “I’ve been waiting for that all day,” she said.
“My wife’s an awful drunkard,” Sam said.
“You’re telling me?” Duffy stood up to look at himself in the mirror. He took one glance, grimaced and sat down again. “I remember, before you knew her, when she got so stewed that it took ten cops to handle her.”