A roustabout meets a solitary in the Fox & Garter.
They both order pints of beer and soon they’re nattering like old pals, though it’s a one-way natter, mostly.
The roustabout tells tales of gold mining in the Klondyke, truck driving in the Alaskan wastes, and feverish dalliances with busty beldams worldwide.
The solitary has no tales to tell, and is content to listen. He is by nature quiet to the point of unsociability.
— So that’s how I ended up in Alaska, see? It turned out she was the boss’s daughter, wasn’t she? I had to leave a bit sharpish after that — no pay either. I legged it out of there like a scalded cat… ages ago now… Applejohn, his name was.
— Applejohn? From Norwich? Matilda Applejohn?
— Yeah, we used to call her Waltzing… Why?
— My sister. Jumped off the cathedral roof. Only fifteen.
— I’ll get this round.