Arthur walks in a little more slowly; he tends to amble everywhere when he's not on the run from something. He's wearing scuffed jeans, his hat, a dark shirt, a vest, riding boots. For all accounts, if she knew of them, a cowboy.

He spots her at the canisters they keep the coffee in. Coincidentally, slightly ahead of his own time. "Here," he says, gruffly. "Let me. You take anything in it?"