'Six pints of bitter', said Ford Prefect to the barman of the horse
and groom 'and quickly please, the world's about to end.'
Arthur remained very worried.
'But can we trust him?', he said.
'Myself, I trust him to the end of the earth.', said Ford.
'Oh yes,', said Arthur 'how far is that?'
'About twelve minutes away', said Ford, 'come on, I need a drink.'
My god, this is terrible, would somebody please stop it?
'Are you serious, sir?' he said in a small whisper
which had the effect of silencing the pub. 'You think the world's going to end?'
'Yes,' said Ford.
'But, this afternoon?' […]
'Yes,' he said gaily, 'in less than two minutes I would estimate.'
The barman couldn't believe the conversation he was having. […]
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'Isn't there anything we can do about it then?' he said.
'No, nothing,' said Ford, stuffing the peanuts into his pockets.
Someone in the hushed bar suddenly laughed raucously
at how stupid everyone had become.
The man sitting next to Ford was a bit sozzled by now.
His eyes waved their way up to Ford.
'I thought,' he said, 'that if the world was going to end
we were meant to lie down or put a paper bag over our head or something.'
'If you like, yes,' said Ford.
'That's what they told us in the army,' said the man,
and his eyes began the long trek back down to his whisky.
'Will that help?' asked the barman.
'No,' said Ford and gave him a friendly smile. 'Excuse me,' he said,
'I've got to go.' With a wave, he left. […]
The barman cleared his throat. He heard himself say:
'Last orders, please.'