ABSTRACT
I was to meet him at the end of a day’s work in Fleet Street and we would go somewhere and talk. He proved to be a fellow of charm, and also with great capacity for putting away whisky. Our progress out of Fleet Street and down the Strand was an alcoholic marvel. How much he drank on that occasion I don’t know, but as every few yards he met some friend and each one of them meant going into a public house and ‘having one’ (followed by another), it was certainly a record as far as my experience went.2
