But there was no time to moralise, for the joviality again became very brisk, and the decanter of port being nearly out, brother Ned pulled the bell, which was instantly answered by the apoplectic butler.
‘David,’ said brother Ned.
‘Sir,’ replied the butler.
‘A magnum of the double-diamond, David, to drink the health of Mr Linkinwater.’
Instantly, by a feat of dexterity, which was the admiration of all the company, and had been, annually, for some years past, the apoplectic butler, bringing his left hand from behind the small of his back, produced the bottle with the corkscrew already inserted; uncorked it at a jerk; and placed the magnum and the cork before his master with the dignity of conscious cleverness.
‘Ha!’ said brother Ned, first examining the cork and afterwards filling his glass, while the old butler looked complacently and amiably on, as if it were all his own property, but the company were quite welcome to make free with it, ‘this looks well, David.’
‘It ought to, sir,’ replied David. ‘You’d be troubled to find such a glass of wine as is our double-diamond, and that Mr. Linkinwater knows very well. That was laid down when Mr. Linkinwater first come: that wine was, gentlemen.’
‘Nay, David, nay,’ interposed brother Charles.
‘I wrote the entry in the cellar-book myself, sir, if you please,’ said David, in the tone of a man, quite confident in the strength of his facts. ‘Mr. Linkinwater had only been here twenty year, sir, when that pipe of double-diamond was laid down.’
‘David is quite right, quite right, brother Charles,’ said Ned: ‘are the people here, David?’