Bit of luck, I call it. You never know who you're going to be put in with. I was jolly glad when I heard you were English.
British to the backbone, that's what I am
Mr. Kelada was short and of a sturdy build, clean-shaven and dark skinned, with a fleshy, hooked nose and very large, lustrous and liquid eyes. His long black hair was sleek and curly. He spoke with a fluency in which there was nothing English and his gestures were exuberant. I felt pretty sure that a closer inspection of that British passport would have betrayed the fact that Mr. Kelada was born under a bluer sky than is generally seen in England.
Prohibition was in force and to all appearance the ship was bone dry
From each of his hip pockets he (Mr. Kelada) fished a flask and laid it on the table before me. I chose the martini, and calling the steward he ordered a tumbler of ice and a couple of glasses.
Whiskey and soda or a dry martini, you have only to say the word.