[In another time and place, under different circumstances and after a few bottles of moonshine maybe, Doc might politely tell him to go to hell. But he has no reason to be hostile or unhelpful here. Unable to tip his hat with his hands full, he inclines his head.]

John Henry. Though everyone calls me Henry. You may take this box, if you like. [The one that looks like it's about to slide off from the pile of things in his arms. He could manage it just fine if he tilts his load, but Eliot looks like he could use something to keep his hands and his mind busy, away from the worry.]

We use the cornmeal and sugar to make moonshine. [They can talk about something else, to keep them distracted.] You were there, weren't you? When the first batch was ready. Was that where you met Mister Quentin?