Taking Toll
by
MR. SMITH kept a drug shop in the little village of Q–, which was situated a few miles from Lancaster. It was his custom to visit the latter place every week or two, in order to purchase such articles as were needed from time to time in his business. One day, he drove off towards Lancaster, in his wagon, in which, among other things, was a gallon demijohn. On reaching the town, he called first at a grocer’s with the inquiry,
“Have you any common wine?”
“How common?” asked the grocer.
“About a dollar a gallon. I want it for antimonial wine.”
“Yes; I have some just fit for that, and not much else, which I will sell at a dollar.”
“Very well. Give me a gallon,” said Mr. Smith. The demijohn was brought in from the wagon and filled. And then Mr. Smith drove off to attend to other business. Among the things to be done on that day, was to see a man who lived half a mile from Lancaster. Before going out on this errand, Mr. Smith stopped at the house of his particular friend, Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones happened not to be in, but Mrs. Jones was a pleasant woman, and he chatted with her for ten minutes, or so. As he stepped into his wagon, it struck him that the gallon demijohn was a little in his way, and so, lifting it out, he said to Mrs. Jones,
“I wish you would take care of this until I come back.”
“O! certainly,” replied Mrs. Jones, “with the greatest pleasure.”
And so the demijohn was left in the lady’s care.
Some time afterwards Mr. Jones came in, and among the first things that attracted his attention, was the strange demijohn.
“What is this?” was his natural inquiry.
“Something that Mr. Smith left.”
“Mr. Smith from Q–?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder what he has here?” said Mr. Jones, taking hold of the demijohn. “It feels heavy.”
The cork was unhesitatingly removed, and the mouth of the vessel brought in contact with the smelling organ of Mr. Jones.
“Wine, as I live!” fell from his lips. “Bring me a glass.”
“O! no, Mr. Jones. I wouldn’t touch his wine,” said Mrs. Jones.
“Bring me a glass. Do you think I’m going to let a gallon of wine pass my way without exacting toll? No–no! Bring me a glass.”
The glass, a half-pint tumbler, was produced, and nearly filled with the execrable stuff–as guiltless of grape juice as a dyer’s vat–which was poured down the throat of Mr. Jones.
“Pretty fair wine, that; only a little rough,” said Mr. Jones, smacking his lips.
“It’s a shame!” remarked Mrs. Jones, warmly, “for you to do so.”
“I only took toll,” said the husband, laughing. “No harm in that, I’m sure.”
“Rather heavy toll, it strikes me,” replied Mrs. Jones.
Meantime, Mr. Smith, having completed most of his business for that day, stopped at a store where he wished two or three articles put up. While these were in preparation he said to the keeper of the store,
“I wish you would let your lad Tom step over for me to Mr. Jones’s. I left a demijohn of common wine there, which I bought for the purpose of making it into antimonial wine.
“O! certainly,” replied the store-keeper. “Here, Tom!” and he called for his boy.
Tom came, and the store-keeper said to him,
“Run over to Mr. Jones’s and get a jug of antimonial wine which Mr. Smith left there. Go quickly, for Mr. Smith is in a hurry.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the lad, and away he ran.
After Mr. Jones had disposed of his half a pint of wine, he thought his stomach had rather a curious sensation, which is not much to be wondered at, considering the stuff with which he had burdened it.
“I wonder if that really is wine?” said he, turning from the window at which he had seated himself, and taking up tie demijohn again. The cork was removed, and his nose applied to the mouth of the huge bottle.