Right, Guybrush Threepwood. He knew it was something like that. Threepwood was talking about himself as if Indy ought to recognize the name from somewhere other than their previous conversation, but maybe the reference was from outside his time. Or maybe Threepwood just had a screw loose. Indy had plenty of concerns, but having a "marketable name" wasn't one of them.

The loose-screw theory sounded increasingly plausible as Threepwood continued to hold forth on fabulous treasure (Indy was all ears) and undead enemies (Indy stopped listening). The guy had a point, though: a) most of the people Indy had initially deemed crazy had turned out to be troublingly sane, and b) either way, expanding your circle of contacts could only help in the long run. Even if they did think they were plank-walking pirates.

Indy eased himself into one of the chairs, with noticeably less pain to his burned left side and hip than yesterday. "Thanks, then," he said, and then for lack of anything more substantive to say based on their limited acquaintance, added the first line of small talk that came to mind: "So how've you been since the last time we talked?" Threepwood hadn't lost any more limbs since then, at least, although he did look like he might've seen better days.