Come on, we'll round up some of the boys and walk into it." They edged their way around the hall outside "The Grand March," toward the harness room, picking up on their way Caraher, Dyke, Hooven and old Broderson.

Once in the harness room, Annixter shot the bolt.
"That affair outside," he observed, "will take care of itself, but here's a little orphan child that gets lonesome without company." Annixter began ladling the punch, filling the glasses.
Osterman proposed a toast to Quien Sabe and the Biggest Barn.

Their elbows crooked in silence.

Old Broderson set down his glass, wiping his long beard and remarking: "That--that certainly is very--very agreeable.

I remember a punch I drank on Christmas day in '83, or no, it was '84--anyhow, that punch--it was in Ukiah--'TWAS '83--" He wandered on aimlessly, unable to stop his flow of speech, losing himself in details, involving his talk in a hopeless maze of trivialities to which nobody paid any attention.
"I don't drink myself," observed Dyke, "but just a taste of that with a lot of water wouldn't be bad for the little tad.