"Comes in fifths and you drink it in shot glasses, unless you want a mix. Rather have mine straight, with a water chaser."
"My error. I seem to have my periods mixed. Suppose you order, since you know so much more than I about the customs of your time?" The old man's happy smile suddenly faded and Sandane added hastily, "I shall pay for it, of course. It's only fitting that you should be my guest, because I believe you can be a great help to me."
This time he had hit the jackpot, the old man reflected as he was wheeled through the dining car to the first class section of the train, with a porter pushing his chair, Sandane opening the doors, and a bottle of good bourbon cradled cozily in his lap. Wait till the boys at the pool hall heard about this trip!
The first shot of bourbon warmed his stomach in the good old familiar way, and somehow that was confirmation that the rest of it was real, too.
"How come you talk the language so good?" he asked his host, after the porter left them alone in the compartment.
"Is that surprising?" Sandane asked. "It shouldn't be. I'm a student of history, in your period on a research project. Naturally, I would have to prepare myself by studying the language of the country and of the period, in order to pass as one of you."
"You do real good, Sandy, considering. But why do you want to act like ordinary folks? Seems to me you ought to go on TV and tell everybody. Bet some big news commentator would be proud to interview you."
"Most people of your time would consider it a hoax."
"Maybe. But as long as you told me this much, let's have the rest of it. How does this time machine of yours work?"