“Why, it’s just like this, sir. I have picked you out as sober a crew as ever went on a voyage, but sailors are sailors, sir, and I don’t think it’s right to be throwing temptation in their way.”
“But this, my workshop, where I bottle my specimens, will always be kept under lock and key.”
“Nay!” snorted the captain.
“But I tell you it will,” cried Uncle Paul. “Nobody will have any business here but my nephew and me.”
“That’s what you mean,” said the captain, “but how about times when you are busy, or forget and leave it open? Can’t warrant always to keep it shut.”
“Well,” said Uncle Paul, with a curious smile, “I have thought of that,” and going to one of the little casks he turned the tap and let about a couple of tablespoonfuls of liquid that looked like filtered water flow into the little glass measure, covering the bottom to about an inch in depth. “There,” said the doctor, holding up the glass to the light; “just taste that, captain.”
“Nay. I don’t mind a drop of good rum at the proper season, but I don’t care about spirits like that.”
“I only want you to taste it,” said the doctor. “It’s too strong to drink.”
“I know,” said the captain. “Burns like fire.”
“Just taste, but don’t swallow it.”