"Do I look like I 'ad a flask?"
The belligerent whine was enough to renew the identity of the mangy little larrikin whose couch on the sand he had shared. The Sydney Duck, they called him: a descriptive title which served as well as any. Junius did not like him very well, but he had lived in his company nearly a week and he had long forgotten to make effective distinctions. Brandy is a great democrat.
"It's my notion I'm going to have the fantods," explained Junius. "I need a bracer."
"My word, I could do with a nip meself just now," agreed Sydney. "'In't y' got no more credit with Bendemeer?"
Peabody made an effort.
"Seems to me I was thrown out of Bendemeer's last night. Is that right?"
"You was, and so was me and that big Dutchman, Willems—all thrown out. But it was your fault. You started playin' chuck farthin' among his bottles with a bunch of copper spikes.... I never see a man 'old his liquor worse."
"Well, I paid for it, didn't I?" inquired Junius, without heat. "And I believe you had your share. But what I'm getting at is—if he threw me out the credit must be gone."
This was simple logic and unanswerable. "Maybe y' got something else he'll tyke for th' price," suggested Sydney. "Damn 'im—'e's keen enough to drive a tryde!"