"There is just so much drink in the whole place.

We shall drink every drop of it! All that matters is, who is to pay for the champagne?
That stuff is costly." They all took beer to begin with, knocking the necks from the bottles as if that act alone lent the necessary air of deviltry to the whole proceedings.

A small, very black Nyamwesi came with brush and pan and groped on the floor all night for the splinters of glass, sleeping between times in a corner until a fresh volley of breaking bottle necks awoke him to work again.
"Die Wacht am Rhein!" yelled Schubert.

"Start it up! Sing that first!" He began to sing it himself, all out of tune.
Fred cut the noise short by standing up to play something nobody could sing to a jangling clamor of chords and runs on which he prides himself, that he swears is classical, but of which neither he nor anybody knows the name.

Then he drank some beer and sang a comic song or two in English, we joining in the choruses.
Meanwhile, Brown was soaking away steadily, taking whatever drink came first to hand, and having no interest whatever in anything but the task of assuaging the thirst he had accumulated in the course of all that long marching since he left home.