“Are you getting snockered?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Well, you’re entitled,” she said. “And it’s good insurance against visiting the Gilhooleys tonight.”

“The Gilmartins.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“The Martin Gilmartins. If your name was Gilmartin, would you name your son Marty?”

“Probably not.”

“I should hope not. What a thing to do to a kid.”

“Well, at least you won’t be picking their locks.”

“Are you kidding? I never have so much as a beer before I go out. And I’ve had what, three drinks?”

“Three and a half, actually. You’ve been drinking mine.”

“Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Three and a half scotches,” I said. “And you think I could pick locks in this condition?”

“Bern—”

“I couldn’t pick bagels,” I said.

“Bern, not so loud.”

“That was a joke, Carolyn. ‘I couldn’t pick locks, I couldn’t even pick bagels.’ Get it?”

“I got it.”

“You didn’t laugh.”

“I figured I’d laugh later,” she said, “when I have more time. Bern, the thing is you’re talking kind of loud to be talking about picking locks.”

“Or bagels.”

“Or bagels,” she agreed. “Either way, the volume control needs adjusting.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize I was shouting.”

“Well, not shouting exactly, but—”

“But loud.”

“Kind of.”

“I didn’t realize it,” I said. “Am I talking loud now?”

“No, this is fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“It’s funny how you can talk loud without even knowing it. It never happens on Perrier, I can tell you that.”

“I know.”

“Do you have any quarters?”

“Quarters?”