Dave, I'd be honored to buy you a drink, sport. It's Scotch, is it not? Bartender, a double Scotch for mon ami and another for me. It's good to see you alive and well. Still riding those rust tubs up the Great Lakes way? And how's your wife, the cute little English kid? That was your wife, wasn't she Sport?

And, right, my leg did get better, though shorter. Knocks the empty glass tumbler against his wooden shin . It's walnut from knee to toe. Here...Raises pant-leg to display a small compartment in the calf. Opening this, he reveals a silver pint flask It's no cheap wine, Dave. Try it...twelve year old Single Malt Scotch. I've 1800 cases of it in a warehouse in Newfoundland. I'll run it to Rochester, New York in false-bottomed box cars, unless of course, you can think of a more expedient and less costly solution. A small sailing craft, shallow draft and quick, might bring it ashore in one of a thousand secluded coves on the Seaboard.