The more beer you
contributed to it the more Meyerbeer it gave you. Which is reciprocity.
Merritt put forth exertions on the dinner. Greenbrier was his old
friend, and he liked him. He persuaded him to drink a cocktail.
"I take the horehound tea," said Greenbrier, "for old times' sake. But
I'd prefer whiskey straight. They're on you."
"Right!" said Merritt. "Now, run your eye down that bill of fare and see
if it seems to hitch on any of these items."
"Lay me on my lava bed!" said Greenbrier, with bulging eyes. "All these
specimens of nutriment in the grub wagon! What's this? Horse with the
heaves? I pass. But look along! Here's truck for twenty round-ups all
spelled out in different directions. Wait till I see."
The viands ordered, Merritt turned to the wine list.
"This Medoc isn't bad," he suggested.
"You're the doc," said Greenbrier. "I'd rather have whiskey straight.
It's on you."
Greenbrier looked around the room. The waiter brought things and took
dishes away. He was observing. He saw a New York restaurant crowd
enjoying itself.
"How was the range when you left the Gila?" asked Merritt.
"Fine," said Greenbrier. "You see that lady in the red speckled silk at
that table.
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