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The man raised his eyes to the porter’s anxious face. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘they’re all right.’

‘Does you want to stay here with them, or don’t you want me to fix you up in your place?’

‘Let him stay here,’ Gilligan said. ‘He wants a drink.’

‘But he ain’t got no business drinking. He’s sick.’

‘Loot,’ Gilligan said, ‘do you want a drink?’

‘Yes. I want a drink. Yes.’

‘But he oughtn’t to have no whisky, sir.’

‘I won’t let him have too much. I am going to look after him. Come on, now, let’s have some glasses, can’t we?’

The porter began again. ‘But he oughtn’t—’

‘Say, Loot,’ Gilligan interrupted, ‘can’t you make your friend here get us some glasses to drink from?’

‘Glasses?’

‘Yeh! He don’t want to bring us none.’

‘Does you want glasses, Cap’m?’

‘Yes, bring us some glasses, will you?’

‘All right, Cap’m.’ He stopped again. ‘You going to take care of him, ain’t you?’ he asked Gilligan.

‘Sure, sure!’

The porter gone, Gilligan regarded his guest with envy. ‘You sure got to be from Georgia to get service on this train. I showed him money but it never even shook him. Say, General,’ to Lowe, ‘we better keep the lootenant with us, huh? Might come in useful.’