Uniatz looked at him gloomily. “Yeah, boss. I know. Half a bottle-and me wit’ a t’oist!” “Mix it with a little water and make it go farther,” Simon suggested helpfully. “Water?” Hoppy stared incredulously. “De stuff what you wash wit’?” The Saint smiled absently, thinking of other things. “You’re definitely no child of Aquarius, Hoppy!” Hoppy blinked with mild stupefaction, pondered a moment and gave up. “No, I guess not,” he sighed. “I wuz de child of Mr. an’ Mrs. Uniatz.” The elevator stopped and they stepped out. “I meant the sign you were born under.” Simon unlocked the door and entered the apartment. “From the way you drink, you must have been born under Pisces.” Hoppy’s eyes widened in wonder at this hitherto unimagined vista of biological phenomena. “Who, me? How did dat happen?” The Saint shrugged, tossing the gloves on the living-room divan as he turned on lights*. “I don’t know,” said the Saint. “It must have been shady there.”
