"Vewve Clikot's universal an' suv'rin remedy," said David, reading the label and bringing the corners of his eye and mouth almost together in a wink to John, "fer toothache, earache, burns, scalds, warts, dispepsy, fallin' o' the hair, windgall, ringbone, spavin, disapp'inted affections, an' pips in hens," and out came the cork with a "wop," at which both the ladies, even Mrs. Cullom, jumped and cried out.
"David Harum," declared his sister with conviction, "I believe thet that's a bottle of champagne."
"If it ain't," said David, pouring into his tumbler, "I ben swindled out o' four shillin'," and he passed the bottle to John, who held it up tentatively, looking at Mrs. Bixbee.
"No, thank ye," she said with a little toss of the head, "I'm a son o' temp'rence. I don't believe," she remarked to Mrs. Cullom, "thet that bottle ever cost less 'n a dollar." At which remarks David apparently "swallered somethin' the wrong way," and for a moment or two was unable to proceed with his dinner. Aunt Polly looked at him suspiciously. It was her experience that, in her intercourse with her brother, he often laughed utterly without reason—so far as she could see.
"I've always heard it was dreadful expensive," remarked Mrs. Cullom.
"Let me give you some," said John, reaching toward her with the bottle. Mrs. Cullom looked first at Mrs. Bixbee and then at David.
"I don't know," she said. "I never tasted any."
"Take a little," said David, nodding approvingly.
"Just a swallow," said the widow, whose curiosity had got the better of scruples. She took a swallow of the wine.
"How do ye like it?" asked David.