The general feeling of Lavender Terrace would have liked him to display more emotion. The neighbours around him made a grand flourishing of the rare pocket-handkerchiefs reserved for such occasions. But Gus maintained his composure, and shuffled back to the Terrace with outward calm, though with a heart that ached sorely.
The "refreshments" had been laid out in Sally Dent's front room. Into this apartment pressed every one who had attended the funeral. There was a grand drawing of corks, and gradually the odour of spirits diffused itself through the room. Gus had been carried into the room with the others against his will. He was watching for a chance of escape, when Sally's eye fell on him, and she beckoned him to her.
"Come, Gus," she said, "you should be the first served to-day. Take a long drink; it will do you good, for you've hardly tasted anything since you got up."
And she held out to him a glass of strong gin and water.
But Gus drew back with an air of repugnance. "No, thank you, I cannot indeed; I never drink spirits," he said.
"Oh, but you're bound to have a drop to-day; it's your father's funeral. It ain't lucky to refuse to drink at a funeral. Come now, it won't hurt you; and I say you shall have it, so there!"
"Yes, yes, young man, you'll have to take it, whether you will or not," said one of the men. "There's no gainsaying Sally. That's right, bring the glass here; we'll make him swaller it."
And he pinioned Gus' arms to his side, holding him in a grasp the boy was powerless to shake off. There was a general laugh as Sally advanced with the glass. Time enough had been given to tears and sighs. The reaction was setting in. It was only right to laugh and be jolly now, when the funeral was successfully accomplished.
"I won't drink it! I promised father I never would, and I won't!" cried Gus.
"That's a joke!" roared another man. "Promised his father, indeed! I'll be bound his father would never have refused a glass of good liquor."