“Better have one,” he said. “Mild as mild. They won’t hurt you.”
I thanked him again and declined, sitting back and watching him as he smoked on seeming to enjoy his cigar, and made a remark or two about the beautiful night and the stars as the train dashed on.
After a time he took out a flask, slipped off the plated cup at the bottom, and unscrewed the top, pouring out afterward some clear-looking liquid.
“Have a drink?” he said, offering me the flask-cup; but I shook my head.
“No, thank you,” I said; and somehow I began thinking of the water I had drunk at the works, and which had made me so terribly sleepy.
I don’t know how it was, but I did think about that, and it was in my mind as he said laughingly:
“What! Not drink a little drop of mild stuff like that? Well, you are a fellow! Why it’s like milk.”
He seemed to toss it off.
“Better have a drop,” he said.
I declined.