“Drink it!” commanded Mr. Stott fiercely, “it is nothing.”
To prove that it was nothing, he poured himself out an even more impressive quantity and tossed it down. In retaliation, the whiskey almost tossed down Mr. Stott. At any rate, he staggered under the shock. Fortunately for his reputation as a hard and easy drinker, Eline was oblivious to everything except a sense of complete suffocation accompanied by a feeling that she had swallowed a large ladleful of molten lead. So she did not see Mr. Stott gasping like a fish and clutching his throat.
“Oh, sir—what was it?” she found voice to ask.
“Whiskey,” said Mr. Stott in a strangled voice, “neat whiskey! It is nothing.”
Eline had never drunk neat whiskey before. It seemed to her, as whiskey, distinctly untidy. It had sharp edges. She could only look upon her employer with a new born respect.
“It is nothing,” said Mr. Stott again. Now that it was all over it seemed at any rate, easy. He was an abstemious man and in truth had never tasted whiskey in its undiluted state. Bravado had made him do it, but now that it was done, he had no regrets.
“How’s your tooth?”
“Fine, sir,” said Eline gratefully. She experienced a wonderful sense of exhilaration. So did Mr. Stott.
“Sit down, Eline,” he pointed grandly to a chair.
Eline smiled foolishly and sat.