“Ye won't be gettin' good cognac where yer goin', Skinny, not by a damn sight,” growled Bill Huggis in the middle of a laugh.
“All right, I'll take a swig.” An idea had suddenly come into Andrews's head.
“Gee, the bastard kin drink cognac,” cried Handsome.
“Got enough money to buy us another bottle?”
Andrews nodded. He wiped his mouth absently with his handkerchief; he had drunk the raw cognac without tasting it.
“Get another bottle, Handsome,” said Bill Huggis carelessly. A purplish flush had appeared in the lower part of his cheeks. When the other man came back, he burst out laughing.
“The last cognac this Skinny guy from the school detachment'll get for many a day. Better drink up strong, Skinny.... They don't have that stuff down on the farm.... School Detachment; I'll be goddamned!” He leaned back in his chair, shaking with laughter.
Handsome's face was crimson. Only the zigzag scar over his eye remained white. He was swearing in a low voice as he worked the cork out of the bottle.
Andrews could not keep his eyes off the men's faces. They went from one to the other, in spite of him. Now and then, for an instant, he caught a glimpse of the yellow and brown squares of the wall paper and the bar with a few empty bottles behind it. He tried to count the bottles; “one, two, three...” but he was staring in the lustreless grey eyes of Bill Huggis, who lay back in his chair, blowing smoke out of his nose, now and then reaching for the cognac bottle, all the while humming faintly, under his breath:
“It's the smile that makes you happy, It's the smile that makes you sad.”