Harrison answered my ring. He was dressed in a brown flannel smoking jacket with a black velvet collar. He waved a soggy cigar butt in his left hand, stuck out his right. ‘Hello, Robert, it’s good to see you, boy.’ We shook hands; his felt dry, lifeless, and his mouth looked nasty. I said, ‘It’s good to see you, Doctor.’ He closed the door behind me and steered me into his study. ‘You’re just in time to join me in a nip.’ ‘Well, thanks,’ I said. I always felt a sharp sense of embarrassment around him. I didn’t like him, didn’t respect him, didn’t have anything to say to him, didn’t like to listen to him. But he always cornered me off for a conversation and I didn’t know how to get out of it short of blasting him one. He went over to his bar. ‘What’ll it be, Scotch?’ ‘Scotch is fine,’ I said. ‘A little water.’ ‘A gentleman’s drink,’ he said, mixing it. ‘Now I prefer rye.’ Then he noticed I was standing and said: ‘Sit down, sit down.
