"Look, Johnny. About the gardens. I'm getting old—uh-uh, don't say it: I am and you know I am. Lately, folks have been comin' around helpin' me out. They let on that they're just there lookin', but they help me, and I know it. Is it because I'm gettin' old, Johnny?"
"Sam, you're like the Captain. Good for another twenty years."
"Now, Johnny, answer old Sam straight."
Johnny Nine hesitated. "Well," he admitted, "you aren't as young as some of us, Sam. But that doesn't mean you're old. I mean, really old." Johnny Nine turned his head so Sam could not see his face.
Sam cleared his throat. "Look, Johnny!" He held out a tiny bottle.
Johnny Nine glanced around. "Where did you get that?" he demanded angrily when he saw the bottle.
"That's all right. Old Sam's got ways. An' he'll be takin' it any day now. You just say the word, Johnny."
"Did somebody give that to you?" Johnny Nine demanded sharply.
"No. Nobody gave it to me. Old Sam's had this bottle for years. Just waitin', Johnny. Just waitin'. For somebody to say the word."
"Give it to me!"