“No.”
Coleman once more lifted his hat. “O eloquent, just and mighty Death!” he exclaimed, and replaced it on his head. “You never read any papers at all—not even our friend Mercaptan’s delicious little middles in the weeklies? How is your delicious little middle, by the way?” Coleman turned to Mr. Mercaptan and with the point of his huge stick gave him a little prod in the stomach. “Ça marche—les tripes? Hein?” He turned back to Shearwater. “Not even those?” he asked.
“Never,” said Shearwater. “I have more serious things to think about than newspapers.”
“And what serious thing, may I ask?”
“Well, at the present moment,” said Shearwater, “I am chiefly preoccupied with the kidneys.”
“The kidneys!” In an ecstasy of delight, Coleman thumped the floor with the ferrule of his stick. “The k
