“You’re not trying to pick a quarrel with me?” he inquired quietly.
“Me? Not on your life! I ain’t pickin’ scraps with the likes of you. But, for God’s sake, man,––name a man-sized drink and be quick. The bunch is all waitin’.”
Phil immediately changed his tactics.
“Thanks!” he answered. “I’ll have a Scotch.”
“That’s talkin’.”
The bar-tender came over with a bottle in his hand. “Say when!” he remarked to Phil.
“Keep a-going,” put in Phil. “Up,––up!”
McGregor stood and gaped.
“That’s ’nough!” said Phil easily, as the liquor was brimming over.
The bar-tender pushed along a glass of water. Phil pushed it back.