"Yes, and some Scotch, too, Pete—if you have it. I'll take two quarts of Scotch and one of gin."
"All right." Pete led the way down into the cellar, switching on an electric light when he reached the foot of the stairs. There was a small bar in the rear of the dingy, underground room, a table or two, and dozens of small boxes stacked against the wall.
It was Hugh's first visit to a bootlegger's den, and he was keenly interested. He had a high-ball along with Carl and Pearson; then took another when Carl offered to stand treat. Pearson bought his three quarts of liquor, paid Pete, and departed alone, Carl and Hugh having decided to have another drink or two before they returned to Haydensville. After a second high-ball Hugh did not care how many he drank and was rather peevish when Carl insisted that he stop with a third. Pete charged them eight dollars for their drinks, which they cheerfully paid, and then warily climbed the stairs and stumbled out into the cold winter air.
"Brr," said Carl, buttoning his coat up to his chin; "it's cold as hell."
"So 'tis," Hugh agreed; "so 'tis. So 'tis. That's pretty. So 'tis, so 'tis, so 'tis. Isn't that pretty, Carl?"
"Awful pretty. Say it again."
"So 'tis. So 'tish. So—so—so. What wush it, Carl?"
"So 'tis."
"Oh, yes. So 'tish."
They walked slowly, arm in arm, toward the business section of Hastings, pausing now and then to laugh joyously over something that appealed to them as inordinately funny. Once it was a tree, another time a farmer in a sleigh, and a third time a Ford. Hugh insisted, after laughing until he wept, that the Ford was the "funniest goddamned thing" he'd ever seen. Carl agreed with him.