rubbing gesture. One hand strayed to his left cheekbone, hovered there
tentatively, wandered to the bridge of his nose, and from there dropped
inertly to the bed.

"Lordy me! I must have been drunk last night," he said aloud,
mechanically taking the straight line of logic from effect to cause, as
much experience had taught him to do.

"You was--and then some," replied an unemotional voice from somewhere
behind him.

"Oh! That you, Sandy?" Ford lay quiet, trying to remember. His
finger-tips explored the right side of his face; now and then he winced
under their touch, light as it was.

"I must have carried an awful load," he decided, again unerringly taking
the backward trail from effect to cause. Later, logic carried him
farther. "Who'd I lick, Sandy?"

"Several." The unseen Sandy gave one the impression of a man smoking and
speaking between puffs. "Can't say just who--you did start in on. You
wound up on--the preacher."

"Preacher?" Ford's tone matched the flicker of interest in his eyes.

"Uhn-hunh."

Ford meditated a moment. "I don't recollect ever licking a preacher
before," he observed curiously.