High Jack had been drinking too much rum ever since we landed in Boca. You know how an Indian is—the palefaces fixed his clock when they introduced him to firewater.

We dined on squab, which I suspected of having started out in life as nonlaughing sea gull, listened to the current palaver in the bar and said good night.

Zoidberg: It's toe-tappingly tragic!

He was incredibly wealthy.