“Don’t mind if I do.” Lindsey slid into a leather chair.
“I’m one ahead of you.”
“So I notice. How can you drink those things, Eric?”
“Abominations? Why, these are ambrosia. Got in the habit when I was in college and we paid fifty cents a gallon for drinking alcohol.”
A waitress had arrived, and with another horrified look at the awful scotch concoction that Coffman had invented, and insisted upon drinking, Lindsey ordered a mineral water.
Coffman fingered his heavy beard. Lindsey had heard him say a hundred times that his hair was slowly migrating from the top of his face to the bottom; when the process was complete he’d move to Australia and start it going the other way.
“What’s the matter, Lindsey? You look glum, chum.”
Lindsey didn’t know where to start. He just shook his head.
