A second or so later the glass was empty; but instead of the whiskey joining the little rivulets of milk running down my clothes, it was securely inside Gran'pa, who was smacking his lips appreciatively.
"Thank you—George!" he gulped.
"Now, do come indoors!" I pleaded, with great self-control.
"No. . . ." he growled.
I could see that he was weakening, however, and I took advantage of the fact.
"It's only two o'clock," I went on. "That means another six hours until breakfast time—six hours before it's even light."
The thought of it made me shudder.
"I won't . . . give way," he mumbled. "I've put up with too much from you as it is. . . . NO!"
"All right! I've done everything that is humanly possible. I've lowered my dignity sufficiently to apologize, and I've offered to forgive and forget. . . ."
"Don't be melodramatic!"