“Oh yes, I do. Let’s see it all.”
“See it and taste too if you like. What shall it be?”
“Nothing,” said Saul grimly, as he looked intently about him. “I shall have another drop of that whiskey when we get upstairs, and then go home.”
“Good boy,” was the bantering remark. “Capital whiskey, though. Like milk. You should taste some of the stuff they sell us out in the West. Paraffin is honey to it!”
“No wish to try it, my dear sir,” said Saul, as he followed his host from cellar to cellar, the feeble light of the candle casting curious shadows on the damp, whitewashed walls, and glinting from the round bottle ends which protruded from their sawdust beds.
“I’m astounded,” said Saul, as they went on and on. “I’d no idea the old man had such a cellar of wine. He scarcely ever touched anything but a liqueur of brandy.”
“Saving it all up for me, I suppose,” said the other laughingly.
“Bring many people down here?”
“Here? Nobody. You’re the first who has been down. Place had been sealed up for years. Look at that?”
They were in the farthest cellar now, a small, low-arched, and groined place, with bins on two sides, the other being blank brick wall, whitewashed.