"Good whiskey and wild women, Johnny, are expensive. Have a good time before you go over there."
"Christ!"
"I didn't exactly have Him in mind," Marston said. "I was thinking more of the long-legged blondes you might bump into. Pity you're not going through San Francisco. The long-legged blondes around the bar at the Andrew Foster Hotel are stunning."
Like that woman, that stunning woman, in the bar at the Bellevue-Stratford?
"OK," John said. "I'll do it first thing in the morning."
"Then I accomplished what I set out to do," Marston said.
"Thank you," John said.
"You mean that, Johnny? Or was I putting my nose in where it had no business?"
"I mean it," John said. "But what I don't understand is why? I mean, why did my father do what he did? Why is he always doing something like that?"
"In this case, it's pretty obvious. Neither his mother or your grandfather left him or your mother very much in their wills. They left everything in trust to the grandchildren. I won't say-though I have a damned good idea-why they chose to do that, but they did."
"Tell me what you think."
"They didn't particularly like him, obviously, and they knew that leaving the money to your mother would be the same thing as leaving it to him. Ten minutes after she got it, he would have talked her out of it."
"Oh."
"In his mind, he was right about not bothering you with the details of your inheritance. He was protecting you. He's been that way as long as I've known him. He really never questions the morality of anything he does. He thinks I like to buy his goddamned first class cabins on the Pacific Princess, and pay his tailor bills, for example. But I shouldn't have called him a sonofabitch, even if he is a sonofabitch, and I'm sorry."
John chuckled.
Marston smiled at him.
"Finish your drink, and we'll have dinner. I'm not sure I'll be able to find the dining room as it is."
William Dawson Marston IV found the dining room without trouble, and he got through the cherrystone clams and half his steak; but then, without warning, he lowered his chin to his chest, dropped his wine glass, and went to sleep.
John was alarmed, but quickly learned that the Union League was prepared for such eventualities. The maitre d'hotel and an enormous chef quickly appeared, hoisted Marston to his feet, and carried him out of the dining room.
"We'll just put Mr. Marston up overnight, until he feels better," the waiter said softly in John's ear.
John was back across Broad Street and almost to the First Philadelphia Trust Company parking lot before he realized that the last thing he wanted to do now was get in the car and go home, where he would probably have to face his father.
If I go back to the bar in the Bellevue-Stratford, maybe she'll be there.
There you go again, Sergeant Asshole For one thing, she won't be there, and for another, what do you think you would do if she was?
He went back to the bar in the Bellevue-Stratford and she was not there.
Well, asshole, what did you expect?
He took the same seat at the bar he had before.
"Scotch," John said. "Famous Grouse, if you have it. With a little water."
He laid money on the bar, but when the bartender delivered the drink, he said, "It's on the gentleman at the end of the bar."
John, uncomfortable, looked down the bar. A middle-aged, silver-haired stout Irishman waved friendlily at him.
Well, he doesn't look like a pervert.
He waved his thanks.
"I wondered if you would come back in here," the beautiful older woman said, behind him.
"Jesus!"
"How was your dinner?"
"The food wasn't bad," John said.
"But the rest was awful?" she asked. "Mine, too."
"Can I get you a drink?"
"Yes, please," she said. "But I insist on paying."
"I can pay," he said. "I want to."
"I think I have a little more money than a Marine Sergeant," she said.
"Don't be too sure," he said. "You weren't at my dinner."
"It was a money dinner? Have you noticed that talking about money at dinner ruins the taste of the food?"
He laughed.
"Yes," he said. "Is that the voice of experience?"
"Yes," she said. "Unfortunately. Over a Bookbinder's lobster, my soon-to-be ex-husband and I fought politely over the division of property."
"I'm sorry," John said.
"Yes, Miss?" the bartender asked.
"What are you drinking?" she asked John.
"Famous Grouse," he said.