The October ale, which was several years old, and of unrivalled strength and flavour, never moistened throats except upon holiday occasions.
The girl knew her master disliked to be questioned, so taking a bunch of keys from the shelf, she glided out of the room and returned with the ale.
“Now, gell,” said her master, “go upstairs into my room, and on the top of the shelf of the left hand cupboard, you will find a jar of ’bacca in it, under a lead weight. Bring two or three screws of that, will you?”
It was real Latakia, which had been smuggled over from Turkey by a parson’s son, a midshipman in the navy, and presented to the farmer in return for hospitalities.
Kitty gave one stare of astonishment before she complied. She had never known the old man treat himself to the October ale and the Latakia tobacco on the same evening, but she said nothing, and hastened on her errand.
When she returned, Jamblin said—
“Reach down from the shelf in the parlour two of those cut glasses.”
This was too much for Kitty, who could hardly believe her ears. The cut glasses in question had never been used—so she had been told since the death of her master’s wife—they were called Mrs. Jamblin’s glasses.
“Do you mean the best cut glasses, sir?” inquired the girl, almost breathless with astonishment.
“Yes, you little fool!” roared the farmer. “What for d’ye want doddlin’ and starin’ like a stuck pig? I thought I spoke plain English tew.” The beer and tobacco were all placed on the oak table at the farmer’s elbow.