"The next thing to drinking oneself is to see another chap what enjoys swallering it." "Bill!" said Jane reprovingly.
Barney Bill cocked his white poll across the table with the perkiness of a quaint bird--Paul saw that the years had brought a striation of tiny red filaments to his weather-beaten face--and fixed her with his little glittering eyes.

"Bill what?
You think I'm 'urting his feelings ?" He jerked a thumb towards his host.

"I ain't.

He thinks good drink's bad because bad has come of it to him--not that he ever took a drop too much, mind yer--but bad has come of it to him, and I think good drink's good because nothing but good has come of it to me.

And we've agreed to differ.