Instinctively he knew that this was to be his last thrill of this order.

He was fifty-two.
"Quit your crowding there!" barked a voice under his chin.
"Sorry, but it's those behind me," said Cutty, looking down into a florid countenance with a raggedy gray moustache and a pair of blue eyes that were blinking.
"I'm so damned short I can't see anything!" "Neither can I." "You could if you wiped your eyes." "You're crying yourself," declared Cutty.
"Blinking jackass! Got anybody out there ?" "All of 'em." "I get you, old son of a gun! No flesh and blood, but they're ours all the same.

Couple of old fools; huh ?" "Sure pop! What right have two old codgers got here, anyhow?
What brought you out ?" "What brought you ?" "Same thing." "Damn it! If I could only see something!" Cutty put his hands upon the shoulders of this chance acquaintance and propelled him toward the curb.

There were cries of protest, curses, catcalls, but Cutty bored on ahead until he got his man where he could see the tin hats, the bayonets, and the colours; and thus they stood for a full hour.

Each time the flag went by the little man yanked off his derby and turned truculently to see that Cutty did the same.
"Say," he said as they finally dropped back, "I'd offer to buy a drink, only it sounds flat." "And it would taste flat after a mighty wine like this," replied Cutty.
"Maybe you've heard of the nectar of the gods.