FullReads

“‘You don’t know what you are talking about, Sally,’ her husband replied good-humouredly, for he was a man of excellent temper, and a little given to jesting. ‘But I suppose you thought it good for you last christmas, when you got boozy on egg-nog.’

“‘O James, how can you talk so!’ his wife exclaimed, her face reddening. ‘You know that you served me a shameful trick then.’

“‘What do you think he did, Mr. Malcom?’ she added, turning to me, while her husband laughed heartily at what she said. ‘He begged me to let him make me a little wine egg-nog, seeing that I wouldn’t touch that which had brandy in it, because liquor always flies to my head. To please him, I consented, though I didn’t want it. And then, the rogue fixed me a glass as strong again with brandy as that which I had refused to take. I thought while I was drinking it, that it did not taste like wine, and told him so. But he declared that it was wine, and that it was so sweet that I could not clearly perceive its flavour. Of course I had to go to bed, and didn’t get fairly over it for two or three days. Now, wasn’t that too bad, Mr. Malcom!’

“‘Indeed it was, Mrs. Bradly,’ I said in reply.

“‘It was a capital joke, though, wasn’t it?’ rejoined her husband, laughing immoderately.

“‘I’ll tell you a good way to retort on him,’ I said, jestingly.

“‘How is that, Mr. Malcom?’

“Pull the tap out of his whiskey-barrel.’

“‘I would, if I dared.’

“‘She’d better not try that, I can tell her.’

“‘What would you do, if I did?’ she asked.

“‘Buy two more in its place, and make you drink one of them.’

“‘O dear! I must beg to be excused from that. But, indeed, James, I wish you would let it run. I’m really ashamed to have it said, that my husband keeps a barrel of whiskey in the house.’

“‘Nonsense, Sally! you don’t know what you are talking about.’

“‘Well, perhaps I don’t,’ the wife said, and remained silent, for there was a half-concealed rebuke in her husband’s tone of voice.

“I saw that I could say no more about the whiskey-barrel, and so I dropped the subject, and, in a short time, after having finished my business with Mr. Bradly, went away.

“‘Well, how comes on the whiskey-barrel?’ I said to him, about a month after, as we met on the road.

“‘First-rate,’ was his reply. ‘It contains a prime article of good old ‘rye,’ I can tell you. The best I have ever tasted. Come, won’t you go home with me and try some?’

“‘No, I believe not.'”

“‘Do now–come along,’ and he took me by the button, and pulled me gently. ‘You don’t know how fine it is. I am sure there is not another barrel like it in the town.’

“‘You must really excuse me, Bradly,’ I replied, for I found that he was in earnest, and what was more, had a watery look about the eyes, that argued badly for him, I thought.

“‘Well, if you won’t, you won’t,’ he said. ‘But you always were an unsocial kind of a fellow.’

“And so we parted. Six months had not passed before it was rumoured through the neighbourhood, that Bradly had begun to neglect his business; and that he spent too much of his time at Harry Arnold’s. I met his wife one day, about this time, and, really, her distressed look gave me the heart ache. Something is wrong, certainly, I said to myself. It was only a week after, that I met poor Bradly intoxicated.

“‘Ah, Malcom–good day–How are you?’ he said, reeling up to me and offering his hand.–‘You havn’t tried that good old rye of mine yet. Come along now, it’s most gone.’

“‘You must excuse me today, Mr. Bradly,’ I replied, trying to pass on.

“But he said I should not get off this time–that home with him I must go, and take a dram from his whiskey-barrel. Of course, I did not go. If there had been no other reason, I had no desire, I can assure you, to meet his wife while her husband was in so sad a condition. After awhile I got rid of him, and right glad was I to do so.”