Tales From Gavagan's Bar by L. Sprague de Camp, Fletcher Pratt Page A

liquor with the women, and then without them; and he could be a nasty drunk, too. When I would try to hold him back, he'd go around the corner there to that flashy place, where they don't care what they sell you, and get himself a skinful. Many's the time my brother Julius had to take him home, blind drunk. This evening I'm telling you about, Mr. Jeffers was in here, and so was this Abaris—he used to call himself Doctor Abaris, did I tell you? But when I ast him could he take a wart off her finger for the wife, he said no, so I'll not be giving him the name.
     
                  So I said to Abaris, was there any trick he could do to make Mr. Jeffers stop drinking, like maybe the time he borrowed the bottle and poured three different things out of it? So he says: "Yes, my dear Cohan; of course, my dear Cohan. Fill up his glass," in that nancy voice of his, and he begins to make those motions like playing the piano.
     
                  I filled up Mr. Jeffers's glass with brandy like he ordered; and he puts his hand to it; but before he can get the glass to his lips, the brandy is back in the bottle, by God. So after we tried it three times, Mr. Jeffers lets the glass alone; and a funny look comes over his face and he walks out. I thought maybe at the time he was headed for the flashy place again; but he comes back the next night; and you can call me an Orangeman if the same thing don't happen with the first drink Mr. Jeffers orders, while he is cold sober. I don't know how it would be if he come in tonight, but Mr. Jeffers hasn't touched a drop of anything stronger than beer since the day, and you all know it as well as I do. Abaris himself says the trick is simple; it's nothing but a continuing appropriation, he says.
     
    # ★ #
     
                  "Apportation," said Murdoch.
     
                  "I thank you, Mr. Murdoch. Excuse it, I must see what this gentleman will be having."
     
                  "A cousin of mine in Milwaukee once—" began Gross, but Witherwax hastily addressed Murdoch: "What's this business about a dragon? D id he make you think you'd seen one coming out of your drink?"
     
                  The young man sipped his Zombie.
     
    # ★ #
     
                  No, nothing like that [he said reflectively]. In fact, I thought it was all part of a stock joke, you know, like kidding someone over his luck with t he dice or his long ears. I've seen plenty of magicians, like everybody else, at clubs and on the stage; and this Abaris didn't strike me as a particularly prepossessing specimen. In fact, I used to wonder how he made a go of it, because just as Mr. Cohan says, he looked rather greasy and was never well dressed. People like to be fooled; but they want to have it done in the grand manner, by a man with a waxed mustache, wearing a white tie and tails at high noon.
     
                  So I was just joking myself when I asked him if he were really a magician. [Murdoch shuddered slightly and took another sip.] He has black eyes, with pupils that have a kind of vertical look that I can't describe; he looked at me out of them and said yes, he was, did I have any objections; and from the way he said it, I knew right off that I'd made a mistake. But there didn't seem anything to do but pretend that I hadn't noticed, so I laughed and said he was just the man I wanted; I needed a magician or a Pied Piper at least, to get the mice out of my apartment.
     
                  [Witherwax laid a bill on the counter and made a circular motion over the glasses, Mr. Cohan bent to the task of making refills.]
     
                  I have an apartment on Fifth Street [continued Murdoch], on the third floor over one of those Fairfield restaurants. The only thing wrong with it is that it is—or was—simply overrun with mice. I had to keep all my food in metal or glass containers; they chewed the bindings of my