“I’m not blaming you Stan; you’re a damn lucky kid, that’s all. Of course I’m lucky too, a hell of a lot luckier than most. My mother’s leftover money supported me until I was twentytwo and I still have a few hundreds stowed away for that famous rainy day, and my uncle, curse his soul, gets me new jobs when I get fired.”
“Baa baa black sheep.”
“I guess I’m really afraid of my uncles and aunts.... You ought to see my cousin James Merivale. Has done everything he was told all his life and flourished like a green bay tree.... The perfect wise virgin.”
“Ah guess youse one o dem dere foolish virgins.”
“Stan you’re feeling your liquor, you’re beginning to talk niggertalk.”
“Baa baa.” Stan put down his napkin and leaned back laughing in his throat.
The smell of absinthe sicklytingling grew up like the magician’s rosebush out of Jimmy’s glass. He sipped it wrinkling his nose. “As a moralist I protest,” he said. “Whee it’s amazing.”
“What I need is a whiskey and soda to settle those cocktails.”
“I’ll watch you. I’m a working man. I must be able to tell between the news that’s fit and the news that’s not fit.... God I dont want to start talking about that. It’s all so criminally silly.... I’ll say that this cocktail sure does knock you for a loop.”
“You neednt think you’re going to do anything else but drink this afternoon. There’s somebody I want to introduce you to.”