A Private Chivalry by Francis Lynde

"HELLO, Brant! " said the reporter. "Been to see Forsyth?"

"Yes."

"Then you are posted, of course. What do you think about it?"

"I hardly know what to think of it yet," replied Brant, unwilling to go into details with Jarvis. "You are sure those fellows were talking about me, and not about somebody else?"

"I'm sure they were talking about a man named Brant who boards at Mrs. Seeley's. That makes the peg fit the hole, doesn't it?"

"It seems to. I guess we shall have to call it a mystery, and hope to learn more about it later on. Going upstairs?"

"Not just yet; let's go and liquidate."

"I don't drink," Brant objected.

"The dickens you don't! Since when?"

"Never mind the date -- since I quit."

"I'll bet money that was no longer ago than yesterday. Come and take a cigar, then."

"I don't mind doing that, if you are thirsty enough to drink alone."

"I am thirsty enough to envy the fellow who went and got himself drowned in a butt of Malmsey," rejoined the reporter, linking arms with Brant and pointing like a trained retriever for the nearest pothouse.

"That thirst will be the death of you, my boy, if you are not careful," ventured the older sinner, catching step.

"Don't you lose any sleep about that. I know blessed well when to take a drink and when to let it alone."

"Yes, I have met you before," said Brant ironically. "You are one of a fair-sized crowd. The first ‘when' is whenever you happen to think of it; the second is when the thing itself is temporarily out of reach."

Jarvis whistled derisively, and his retort was out of the heart of flippancy:

"You missed your calling, old man; your layout is the Prohibition platform. Why don't you join the Salvation Army?"

"For good and sufficient reasons; but that has nothing to do with your bad habits."

"Oh, come off! You're a one-horse lay preacher, that's what you are! Your theory is all right, but the wheels won't go round in practice. Man can't be a reporter and not drink."