“I wish he was here now,” Nick said. “We’d take him fishing to the ’Voix tomorrow.”
“I wonder if he’d like to go fishing,” Bill said.
“Sure,” said Nick. “He must be about the best guy there is. Do you remember the Flying Inn?”
“‘If an angel out of heaven
Gives you something else to drink.
Thank him for his kind intentions;
Go and pour them down the sink.’”
“That’s right,” said Nick. “I guess he’s a better guy than Walpole.”
“Oh, he’s a better guy, all right,” Bill said.
“But Walpole’s a better writer.”
“I don’t know,” Nick said. “Chesterton’s a classic.”
“Walpole’s a classic, too,” Bill insisted.
“I wish we had them both here,” Nick said. “We’d take them both fishing to the ’Voix tomorrow.”
“Let’s get drunk,” Bill said.
“All right,” Nick agreed.
“My old man won’t care,” Bill said.
“Are you sure?” said Nick.
“I know it,” Bill said.
“I’m a little drunk now,” Nick said.
“You aren’t drunk,” Bill said.
He got up from the floor and reached for the whisky bottle. Nick held out his glass. His eyes fixed on it while Bill poured.
Bill poured the glass half full of whisky.
“Put in your own water,” he said. “There’s just one more shot.”
“Got any more?” Nick asked.
“There’s plenty more but dad only likes me to drink what’s open.”
“Sure,” said Nick.
“He says opening bottles is what makes drunkards,” Bill explained.
