"Well, yes. Not so hard as some I've tackled, though. But it's a warm day, and I think after that we're entitled to a little refreshment. What do you say?"
For a moment Jack did not understand.
"Refreshment," he repeated. "There's no place around here where you can get anything to eat. No places short of going back to Tuckerton. And I'm not hungry enough for that."
"Hungry? Shucks, no! I'm not myself. I wasn't talking about anything to eat. I meant something to drink."
"Oh," said Jack, and a queer sort of feeling came over him. "Well, there's no ice cream soda place around here, either," and he smiled.
"Ice cream soda? Shucks! I'm talking about a man's drink! And I don't need any one to wait on me, either. I carry it with me. It's safer in case of emergency," and he laughed in what he evidently meant to be taken as a friendly fashion.
"Here, have a smile with me," he went on, producing a pocket flask. "It's stuff I can recommend," he added. "It'll do you good after working over that shoe. Come on, help yourself, and then I'll take what you leave, though there's plenty in that bottle, and more where that came from."
He held out a dark flask to Jack.
Jack backed away and shook his head.
"No, thank you," he said, firmly.