He set out a squat bottle on the bar, and thinking it best to humor the both of them I poured out a stiff drink, fully aware that Rale was observing my features closely.
"Seen yer afore sumwhar, ain't I?"
"I reckon," I replied indifferently, watching Tim fill his glass. "I worked my way up on the boat; saw yer on board."
"Sure; that's it; 'tain't in my line fer ter forgit a face. Yer ain't enlisted yit?"
"No; reckon I'll wait till maunin', an' clean up a bit furst. How 'bout sum soap an' water fore I eat? an' yer cudn't loan me a razor, cud ye?"
He rubbed his chin reflectively with stubby fingers.
"Wal' I got plenty o' water, an' maybe cud scare up sum soap. Tim yere he's got a razor, an', if he's a frien' o' yers, I reckon he mought lend it ter yer—thet's sure sum hell ov a beard yer've got."
The deputy gulped down his drink, and smacked his lips, clinging with one hand to the bar, regarding me lovingly.
"Sure; he's friend' o' mine. Shave him myself soon's I git sober. Stand most whisky all righ', but damn if I kin this kind—only hed three drinks, tha's all—-whut's thet? Yer can't wait? Oh, all righ' then, take it yerself. Mighty fin' razor, ol' man."
Rale found me a tin basin, water, a bit of rag for a towel, and a small, cracked mirror, in which my reflection was scarcely recognizable. He was a man of few words, contenting himself with uttering merely a dry comment on Kennedy, who had dropped back into a convenient chair, and buried his face on the table.