“Stated with the accuracy of science,” declared Kearns. “By all means, let’s take the footpath.”
They accordingly traversed the first roadway, clambered over the dividing barrier, crossed the second roadway and ascended to the footpath. Then they turned their faces in the direction of the town visible in the distance. They had proceeded but a few steps when Kearns suddenly stopped and turned to the Professor with the air of a man to whom a happy thought has come.
“Professor,” he said with a smile, “it’s just occurred to me that right here, in my hind pocket, I’ve a flask. I remember slipping it in before starting, thinking it might come in handy during our walk, and it looks now as if it might.”
“A flask!” exclaimed the Professor, diffidently. “May I ask what it contains?”
“Whiskey—just plain whiskey,” replied Kearns, as he pulled out the flask. “It’s a warm day and we’re both tired, in spite of that long rest. May I invite you to join me?”
“The day is warm,” assented the Professor, “and we are tired. I do not usually indulge, but upon this occasion——”
“Help yourself,” exclaimed Kearns, detaching the small silver receptacle which served as a drinking cup and handing it and the flask to Dean.
The latter helped himself and handed back the flask to Kearns. “Really!” he exclaimed with some show of alarm, “that seems to be powerful stuff. I can feel it all through me.”
“It’s the finest old Kentucky whiskey,” replied Kearns, somewhat nettled that the quality of his liquor should be questioned. “It was a special present to me from Colonel Claybourne, the famous distiller.”
“Powerful—very powerful!” repeated Dean.