"Well, I reckon you're right, but still we have to be mighty particular. I don't know, either but you might be taking him some whisky. Man's got a right to drink whisky, it's true, but it don't speak well for the morals and religious standin' of a jailer if he's got a lot of drunken prisoners on hand; so, if you've got a bottle about you anywhere you'd better let me take it."
"I've got no bottle."
"That so? Didn't know but you might have one. Prohibition has struck this town putty hard, you know. Search yourself and see if you hain't got a bottle."
"Don't you suppose I know whether I've got one or not? But if you want one you shall have it."
"S-h-e-e! Don't talk so loud. There's nothin' that sharpens a man's ears like prohibition. Say," he whispered, "a good bottle costs about a dollar."
"Here's your dollar. It's my last cent, but you shall have it."
"Oh, it ain't my principle to rob a man," he said as he took the money. "But I do need a little licker this mornin'. Why, I'm so dry I couldn't whistle to a dog. No pizen, you understand," he added, with a wink, as he opened the door.
The drawing of the bolts must have aroused Alf from sleep, for when I stepped into the corridor he was sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes.
"Helloa, is that you, Bill? What are you doing here this time of day? Why, I haven't had breakfast yet."
"I have come to tell you something, and I want you to be quiet while I tell it."