Catching the handle with his left hand, he gave the jug a quick turn, rested it upon the crook of his uplifted elbow, and applied his lips to the spout. Dainty watched him with fascinated eyes.
When at last he set the jug upon the table and seated himself beside it, she said with a chuckle:
“Elder, when I wus a little gal I wus always countin’—I used to count de cobs in de feed-trough, an’ de beans in a hull, an’ de number of swallers a cow tuck when she drunk water.”
“Jes’ so,” Hitch responded, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his red undershirt.
“Seben swallers is a big drink fer a cow, elder,” Dainty continued.
“Dat’s right,” Hitch agreed.
“Elder,” Dainty chuckled, “when you wus drinkin’ outen my jug, you swallered fo’teen times!”
“Yes’m,” Hitch replied solemnly. “I tole you I wus feelin’ powerful sick!”
Suddenly he remembered that he was playing the part of a preacher. He decided he ought to say something religious. So he began:
“Sister Dainty, dis am de Bible law about de imbibin’ of awjus liquors: de amount of booze a man oughter drink depen’s on how much he kin hold inside hisse’f an’ at de same time resist de effecks; but, neverdeless an’ howsumever, eve’y man oughter take a little dram fer his stomick’s ache in case of powerful sickness.”