“I sure have—and you’d better acquire one if you want to live as long as I have.” Jubal had just trusted Douglas with a fortune equivalent to a medium-sized national debt—but he had not assumed that Douglas’ over-eager lieutenants would not tamper with food and drink. So to avoid the services of a food taster he had fetched all the way from the Poconos plenty of food, more than a plenty of liquor—and a little water. And, of course, ice cubes. He wondered how Caesar had licked the Gauls without ice cubes.

“I don’t hanker to,” Duke answered.

“Matter of taste. I’ve had a pretty good time, on the whole. Get crackin’, girls. Anne, douse your cloak and get useful. First girl back in here with a drink for me skips her next turn at ‘Front.’ After our guests, I mean. Do please sit down, gentlemen. Sven, what’s your favorite poison? Akvavit, I suppose—Larry, tear down, find a liquor store and fetch back a couple of bottles of akvavit. Fetch Bols gin for the captain, too.”

“Hold it, Jubal,” Nelson said firmly. “I won’t touch akvavit unless it’s chilled overnight—and I’d rather have Scotch.”

“Me, too,” agreed van Tromp.

“All right. Got enough of that to drown a horse. Dr. Mahmoud? If you prefer soft drinks, I’m pretty sure the girls tucked some in.”

Mahmoud looked wistful. “I should not allow myself to be tempted by strong drink.”

“No need to be. Let me prescribe for you, as a physician.” Jubal looked him over. “Son, you look as if you had been under considerable nervous strain. Now we could alleviate that with meprobamate but since we don’t have that at hand, I’m forced to substitute two ounces of ninety-proof ethanol, repeat as needed. Any particular flavor you prefer to kill the medicinal taste? And with or without bubbles?”

Mahmoud smiled and suddenly did not look at all English. “Thank you, Doctor—but I’ll sin my own sins, with my eyes open. Gin, please, with water on the side. Or vodka. Or whatever is available.”

“Or medicinal alcohol,” Nelson added. “Don’t let him pull your leg, Jubal. Stinky drinks anything—and always regrets it.”

“I do regret it,” Mahmoud said earnestly, “because I know it is sinful.”

“Then don’t needle him about it, Sven,” Jubal said brusquely. “If Stinky gets more mileage out of his sins by regretting them, that’s his business. My own regretter burned out from overload during the market crash in ’29 and I’ve never replaced it—and that’s my business. To each his own. How about victuals, Stinky? Anne probably stuffed a ham into one of those hampers—and there might be other unclean items not as clearly recognizable. Shall I check?”

Mahmoud shook his head. “I’m not a traditionalist, Jubal. That legislation was given a long time ago, according to the needs of the time. The times are different now.”

Jubal suddenly looked sad. “Yes. But for the better? Never mind, this too shall pass and leave not a rack of mutton behind. Eat what you will, my brother—God forgives necessity.”

“Thank you. But, truthfully, I often do not eat in the middle of the day.”

“Better eat, or the prescribed ethanol will do more than relax you. Besides, these kids who work for me may sometimes misspell words . . . but they are all superb cooks.”

Miriam had come up behind Jubal with a tray bearing four drinks, orders having been filled at once while Jubal ranted. “Boss,” she broke in, “I heard that. Will you put it in writing?”

“What?” He whirled around and glared at her. “Snooping! You stay in after school and write one thousand times: ‘I will not flap my ears at private conversations.’ Stay until you finish it.”

“Yes, Boss. This is for you, Captain . . . and for you, Dr. Nelson . . . and this is yours, Dr. Mahmoud. Water on the side, you said?”

“Yes, Miriam. Thank you.”

“Usual Harshaw service—sloppy but fast. Here’s yours, Boss.”

“You put water in it!”

“Anne’s orders. She says you’re too tired to have it on the rocks.” Jubal looked long-suffering. “You see what I have to put up with, gentlemen? We should never have put shoes on ’em. Miriam, make that ‘one thousand times’ in Sanskrit.”

“Yes, Boss. Just as soon as I find time to learn it.” She patted him on the head. “You go right ahead and have your tizzy, dear; you’ve earned it. We’re all proud of you.”

“Back to the kitchen, woman. Hold it—has everybody else got a drink? ‘Where Ben drink? Where’s Ben?”