“Try,” he cried, “try? Why, it ought to want no trying; you ought to be as happy as the day is long.”
“For shame, Mr Stuart,” cried Mrs Bolter, handing him the large cool tumbler of water with the whiskey already in. “Would you have her show no sympathy for people who are all in trouble? It’s a weary, miserable world, and I wonder you can look as happy as you do.”
“Hoot—toot, Madam! weary miserable world! Here are you with the best of husbands. You ought to be ready to jump for joy.”
“But I’m not,” said the little woman, passionately. “But I’m not so miserable as I was.”
“That’s a comfort,” said the little merchant, drily; and he took a sip from his tumbler—a goodly sip—as if he intended to finish all that was there. “Hech! madam, ye didna forget the whuskee.”
“Is it too strong, Mr Stuart? Let me put in a little more water.”
“Mair watter! nay; ye’d spoil a verra decent drink for a hot day.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Hah! ye ought to be verra happy indeed, wumman, for the doctor’s a good man, and a trusty fren’. Hah! that’s good whuskee,” he added, with a sigh of satisfaction after a deep draught. “Life would be but a sore lookout in these parts wi’-out joost a soop o’ whuskee to take the taste o’ the crocodiles out o’ the watter.”
“It is very hot out of doors, is it not, father?” said Grey, who was wondering what he meant to say.