“No beer for me. No midnight racketings. I go on the water wagon right here. Also the sleep wagon.” He folded his trousers lengthwise upon his trunk, and reached for his pajamas. “I advise you the same,” he added. “We’ve got a job, you and I, training a yellow dog to jump in and fight for its life.”
“You’re on for the job, then, Andy?” cried Jeremy.
“Boss,” said Andrew Galpin, rolling over into his dishevelled bed, “you’ve hired a hand.”