‘It’s my round,’ Angus shouted. ‘I’m paying, all you guys. No arguments. Yes, I insist. “That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold,”’ he shouted.

His voice faded out and so, raggedly, did all the others. Blondie’s giggle persisted and died. A single voice – Angus’s – asked uncertainly: ‘What’s up? Oh. Oh hell! I’ve quoted from the play. Never mind. Sorry, everybody. Drink up.’

They drank in silence. Rangi drained his pint of mild and bitter. Angus nodded to the barman, who replaced it with another. Angus mimed pouring in something else and laid an uncertain finger on his lips. The barman winked and added a tot of gin. He pushed the drink over towards Rangi’s hand. Rangi’s back was turned but he felt the glass, looked round and saw it.

‘Is that mine?’ he asked, puzzled.

They all seized on this. They said confusedly that of course it was his drink. It was something to make a fuss about, something that would make them all forget about Angus’s blunder. They betted Rangi wouldn’t drink it down then and there. So Rangi did. There was a round of applause.

‘Show us, Rangi. Show us what you did. Don’t say anything, just show.’

‘E-e-e-uh!’ he shouted suddenly. He slapped his knees and stamped. He grimaced, his eyes glittered and his tongue whipped in and out. He held his umbrella before him like a spear and it was not funny.

It only lasted a few seconds.

They applauded and asked him what it meant and was he ‘weaving a spell’. He said no, nothing like that. His eyes were glazed. ‘I’ve had a little too much to drink,’ he said. ‘I’ll go, now. Good night, all of you.’

They objected. Some of them hung on to him but they did it half-heartedly. He brushed them off. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have taken that drink. I’m no good with drinking.’ He pulled some notes out of his pocket and shoved them across the bar. ‘My round,’ he said. ‘Good night, all.’

He walked quickly to the swing doors, lost his balance and regained it.

‘You all right?’ Angus asked.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘Far from it.’

He walked into the doors. They swung out and he went with them. They saw him pull up, look stiffly to right and left, raise his umbrella in a magnificent gesture, get into the taxi that responded and disappear.

‘He’s all right,’ said one of the lairds. ‘He’s got a room round here.’

‘Nice chap.’

‘Very nice.’

‘I’ve heard, I don’t know who told me, mark you,’ said Angus, ‘that drink has a funny effect on Maori people. Goes straight to their heads and they revert to their savage condition.’

‘Rangi hasn’t,’ said Ross. ‘He’s gone grand.’

‘He did when he performed that dance or whatever it was,’ said the actor who played Menteith.