Ben Gunn bustled into the cabin in the course of this harangue and deposited a trayful of decanters, bottles and flasks before us. Captain Flint, without awaiting an invitation, seized upon an earthen receptacle labeled "Gedney's Jamaican Rum," pried out the cork with the point of a knife, tilted it to his mouth and drained a mighty dram. Then he set it down beside him, wiped his mouth on his coat-cuff and cleared his throat.
"Humph," he growled. "I'm listening."
My uncle looked distressed.
"Gunn," he said, "how often have I asked you to supply Captain Flint with a goblet, beaker or some other drinking-utensil?"
The steward wiggled abjectly and pulled his forelock.
"Oft and often you has, captain, but 'taint no manner o' use—leastways not the fust time. Captain Flint says as how he always has to take the flavor of a new flask straight from the neck."
"And so I do," agreed Flint. "Rum don't taste the same in a cup. Ye drink coffee or tea in a cup—but rum! —— my eyes if I ever see so much fuss over drink and victuals as you make. But anything to oblige, Murray. I don't ha' to eat with ye every day, thank God!"
Gunn produced a large silver goblet from a wall-cupboard, and Flint straightway filled it to the brim. I pushed a cut-glass carafe of water toward him, supposing he would wish some dilution, and he laughed jarringly.
"You ha' much to learn, my lad," he jeered. "We don't spoil good rum wi' water aboard the Walrus. There's a cask broached this minute on the spar-deck, and all hands fillin' their pannikins as fast as they can empty 'em, wi' red-headed Darby astride the butt for luck."
"Which means you will be in no condition to make sail a few hours hence," deplored my great-uncle, wagging his head. "'Tis foolishness, Flint. This rum-swigging will yet prove the undoing of you and every man of your crew. I am no upholder of imaginary virtues, as you know, but unbridled indulgence must ultimately defeat its own ends."