Lopat's train of thought went down a different track, which was probably just as well. He said, "And everything's going to hell all over the world, but you're a civilian with a steady job. That's nothing to sneeze at, either, not these days it's not."
"Ain't it the truth?" Moss said, without grammar but with great sincerity. "I don't know when it's going to turn around. I don't know if it's ever going to turn around."
"Tell you one thing." The military prosecutor spoke with a glee unfueled as yet by whiskey. "Come November, old man Blackford can head back to Dakota, and nobody'll miss him a bit. And with a Democrat in Powel House, things here in Canada will tighten up-and about time, too. You see if they don't, Jonathan my boy."
"If they tighten up any more, you won't bother trying Canucks at all," Moss said. "You'll just give 'em a blindfold and a cigarette, the way it worked during the war."
"What a liar!" Lopat said. "Some of the fast ones you've pulled off in military court, and you're boo-hooing for the Canucks? Give me a break, for crying out loud!"
"Your trouble, Major, is that you think people spell prosecute and convict the same way," Moss said. "That's not how it works. Even in military court, a defendant's entitled to a fair shake."
"Most of the ones who come up before the court deserve to be shaken, all right," Lopat said. "One of these days, you're going to be sorry for getting so many of 'em off. You may be turning another Arthur McGregor loose on the world."
"McGregor never went to court," Moss snapped. "And there's not a lawyer in the world who doesn't have some clients he wishes he didn't. But what can you do, for Christ's sake? If you don't give everybody as good a defense as you can, everybody's rights go down the drain."
"Some people deserve to be locked up, and to have the jailer lose the key," Lopat insisted. "Or worse. How many people did McGregor end up killing? And a lot of 'em were just Canucks in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"McGregor deserved whatever happened to him-after he had his day in court," Moss said. "Till you have a trial, you just don't know. You people have tried to railroad a few Canadians in your time, and don't try to tell me any different."
Lopat snorted. "You'd say that, wouldn't you? I've got news for you, though. Just because you say it doesn't make it so." He picked up his glass of whiskey, poured it down, and signaled for a refill.
"If you don't admit that…" Moss threw his hands in the air. Of course Sam Lopat wouldn't admit it. He was a lawyer, too. Expecting a lawyer to admit anything damaging to the point of view he was presenting was like wishing the Easter Bunny would hop across your lawn. You could do it, but it wouldn't do you any good, and you'd spend a long time waiting.
Lopat underscored the point, grinning and saying, "I don't admit one damn thing, Counselor. Not one damned thing."
Moss finished his own drink, then got to his feet. "Fine. Don't admit anything. I'm still going to whale the stuffing out of you when we go back to court tomorrow morning. For now, I'm heading home. See you in the morning." He plucked his hat off the rack, stuck it on his head, and strode out of the Pig and Whistle in more than a little annoyance. How could you have a civilized discussion with a man who wouldn't admit one damned thing and was proud of it?
That Lopat might think the same of him never crossed his mind.
His Bucephalus started reluctantly. He let out a sigh of relief when it did start. The battery was going, no doubt about it. Pretty soon he'd have to get a new one. Pretty soon he'd have to get a new, or at least a newer, auto, too. Too many things on the Bucephalus were breaking down. And the company had gone out of business in 1929, so parts were hard to come by and ever more expensive.
He parked it outside his block of flats and hoped it would fire up again in the morning. If it didn't… If it doesn't, I'll walk in, he thought, and reminded himself to set the alarm clock half an hour earlier than usual to give him time to walk if he had to.
His key turned in the lock. "I'm home!" he called as he stepped in the door. He wondered how glad Laura would be to see him. She'd been happy enough to marry him, but neither of them had been particularly happy since. Moss listened. Silence. "I'm home, honey," he said again, wondering what sort of trouble he was in.
But it turned out not to be that kind of silence. A moment later, noise came from the bathroom: the unmistakable sound of someone being sick. A moment after that, the water closet flushed.
Laura came out a minute or so afterwards. She looked distinctly green. "What happened, hon?" Moss asked. "Are you all right?"
"Better now," she said, and made a face, probably at the nasty taste in her mouth. "In about eight months, we'll know if it's a boy or a girl."
For a moment, that seemed a complete non sequitur. Then Moss' jaw dropped. "You mean we're-?"
She nodded. "Doesn't seem to be much room for doubt any more. I've missed a month, and I've got morning sickness, even if it isn't morning right now. We're going to have a baby, sure enough."
"That's… wonderful," Moss said. A good attorney was never supposed to be caught speechless. He went on, "But… how did it happen?"
His wife's mouth quirked in a wry grin. "Very much in the usual way, I'm sure. It hasn't happened any other way since the days of our Lord."
He made a face at her. "I didn't mean that. What I meant was, it's a surprise." He couldn't think of the last time he hadn't worn a safe when they made love.
"Those things aren't perfect," Laura said.
"Evidently not." Moss shrugged and laughed. "If it's a boy, we can call him Broken Rubber Moss. That has a ring to it, don't you think? Or how about Prophylactina for a girl?"
"What I think-" Laura Moss didn't, couldn't, go on. What ever she'd been about to say, a giggle swallowed it. She tried again: "What I think, Jonathan, is that you're dangerously insane."
He bowed. "Your servant, ma'am. You've known that for a long time, I'm sure."
"I certainly have." She nodded. "There I was, with this mad Yank who kept coming to the farm. I didn't want any mad Yanks coming to the farm."
"I should hope not," Moss said gravely. "You get into all sorts of trouble if you let those people anywhere near you. You might even end up married to one of them if you're not careful, and after that anything can happen. Obviously."
"Obviously," Laura echoed. She set one hand on her belly, though the pregnancy didn't show and wouldn't for months. "This was as much a surprise to me as it was to you, you know. I didn't much want a child. Now… Now we'll just have to make the best of it, won't we?"
"I don't know what else we can do." Moss kissed her on the cheek.
When he tried to kiss her on the mouth, too, she pulled away, saying, "You don't want to do that. I haven't properly cleaned my teeth yet."
"Oh." Jonathan nodded. "Well, why don't you, then?" While Laura went back to the bathroom, he hurried to the kitchen. The occasion really called for champagne, but they didn't have any. Whiskey over ice would do the job well enough. He had the drinks ready by the time Laura came out again.
She took one. They solemnly clinked glasses and drank. Then Moss did kiss her. Her mouth tasted of liquor and toothpaste. She said, "I hope this won't make me sick again." After seeming to listen to something internal, she shook her head in relief. "No, I think it will be all right." As if to prove it, she took another sip. "That's good."
"It is, isn't it?" Jonathan drank some more, too. He raised his glass. "Here's to us, and to… whom it may concern."
"That's pretty good. I like it a lot better than… what you said before." Laura wouldn't dignify it by repeating it.
"All right." Moss made his drink disappear in a hurry. Along with what he'd had at the Pig and Whistle, it left him owlishly serious. He took his wife's hands in his and said, "I do love you, you know. I always have."