“Yes, dear.”
“You've been having coffee, papa?”
“We DID have some, I think,” said the wretched man apologetically, though why he could not determine.
“Before I came up? while the bear was trying to eat me?”
“No, after.”
“I've a horrid taste in my mouth. It's the honey. I'll never eat honey again. Never!”
“Perhaps it's the whiskey.”
“What?”
“The whiskey. You were quite faint and chilled, you know. We gave you some.”
“Out of—that—black—bottle?”