I could, in a way, considering that they were friends and shipmates, understand Spider and Whisky Bob being asked to drink; but why should the longshoremen, Bill Kelley and Soup Kennedy, be asked?
Then there was Pat, the Queen's brother, making a total of eight of us.
It was early morning, and all ordered whisky.

What could I do, here in this company of big men, all drinking whisky?
"Whisky," I said, with the careless air of one who had said it a thousand times.

And such whisky! I tossed it down.

A-r-r-r-gh! I can taste it yet.
And I was appalled at the price French Frank had paid--eighty cents.
EIGHTY CENTS! It was an outrage to my thrifty soul.

Eighty cents--the equivalent of eight long hours of my toil at the machine, gone down our throats, and gone like that, in a twinkling, leaving only a bad taste in the mouth.