“Well, some one’s got to sell them to him.”
“They’ll not sell in Hardiston,” said Wint. He was a little tired of this. “Looks to me as though Amos has stopped to talk politics, after all. Did you tell him I was coming?”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “He’ll be right home.” She got up abruptly. “There’s some lemonade in the dining room,” she said. “Would you like some?”
“Every time,” he said. “It’s warm enough to make it taste pretty fine, to-night.”
She came out with a tall pitcher and two glasses, and filled his glass and her own. They lifted the glasses together, and Wint touched his to his lips. Then he took it down, and looked at it, and said:
“Hello!”
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“There’s a stick in this, isn’t there?”
“Yes. I always put a little in. Peach brandy. I love it.”
“Peach brandy, eh?”