Having bought the stuff for them, I took the liberty to sit by while they took their shot, which they did without seeming to notice me. Their bony arms were gray, like pieces of petrified wood. The skin was pocked with marks, mottled and scarred from the repeated, hourly stabbing of the needle. Their shirt sleeves were encrusted with dried blood from the many punctures. And yet they appeared oblivious to it all.

“Have a little shot, young fellow?” Georgie asked cordially.

I declined. “What would happen to me if I did?” I asked.

“Why, nothing; you’d lie down on the bench and sleep like a baby till time to go out in the morning, that’s all.”

“Yes! And what would happen to the balance of my silver while I am sleeping like a baby?”