“Indiana? That’s nice. Real nice.”
“Yeah. You talk about green hills, we got green hills in Indiana. What time is it?”
Clayton told him.
“Jeez-krise! Ol’ spaship takes off in an hour. Ought to have one more drink first.”
Clayton realized he didn’t like Parks. But maybe he’d buy a bottle.
Sharkie Johnson worked in Fuels Section, and he made a nice little sideline of stealing alcohol, cutting it, and selling it. He thought it was real funny to call it Martian Gin.
Clayton said: “Let’s go over to Sharkie’s. Sharkie will sell us a bottle.”
“Okay,” said Parks. “We’ll get a bottle. That’s what we need: a bottle.”
It was quite a walk to the Shark’s place. It was so cold that even Parks was beginning to sober up a little. He was laughing like hell when Clayton started to sing.
“We’re going over to the Shark’s
To buy a jug of gin for Parks!
Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho!”