“That sherry’s not much account, Mr Gurdon, sir,” he said, in a whisper; “but it’s the best I’ve got to offer you. The long and short of it is, sir, we can’t order enough, in a little house like this, to make a wine-merchant care about sending it good; but I’ve got a few gallons of brandy down now that I should just like you to try, and give me your opinion. You see, it isn’t every day as one has a gent in as understands such things; but you, being used to your cellar, and having good stuff in your bins, yours is an opinion one would like to have. There, sir, now just taste that,” said Chunt, filling a liqueur-glass from a big stone bottle; “that’s, between ourselves, just as it comes—untouched, you know. I’ll mix you a glass hot; but just give me your opinion on it as it is.”
Mr Gurdon was touched in a weak place, for, though his cellar knowledge was almost nil, it was not worth while to say so. Incense was nice—almost as nice as brandy, so accepting Chunt’s glass, and confidential wink, he tasted the brandy—tasted it again, and then agreed that it wasn’t bad, only it wanted age.
“The very words as my spirit-merchant says to me, sir,” said Chunt. “If that brandy had age, sir, it wouldn’t be surpassed anywhere.”
Mr Gurdon felt better, and agreed with one of the visitors present that they wanted rain. Then, after finishing the neat brandy, he commenced the stiff tumbler of hot grog placed before him by Chunt, toyed with the end of his cigar; and, finding a general disposition to pay him respect, and to call him “sir,” he gradually unbent—more swiftly, perhaps, than he would have done—under the influence of the brandy and water, for which he had a decided weakness, the potent spirit unlocking, or, as Chunt told his wife, oiling the butlers tongue, so that he gratified the curiosity of the Merlandites that evening to a considerable extent. And there was no lack of brandy and water that night: every one drank it, doing as Mr Gurdon did; and there was quite a struggle amongst the little traders for the honour of “standing” Mr Gurdon’s next glass, the most eager of them, so as not to be outdone, requesting Chunt to fill it again, while it was yet but half empty.
“And do you like furren parts, Mr Gurdon, sir?” said Chunt, setting the ball rolling.
“Pretty well—pretty well,” said Gurdon. “On the whole, perhaps, better than England. Society’s higher there—more titles.”
“I suppose Mr Gurdon ain’t brought home a Hightalian wife,” said Huttoft.
Mr Gurdon did not quite approve of this; and Huttoft had to suffer the frowns of the whole company.
“And so, after all these years, Mr Gurdon, sir,” said Mouncey, who was in high spirits with the prospect of bread supplying, “you haven’t brought us home a heir to the Castle.”
“No,” said Mr Gurdon; “and it’s my opinion as there’ll never be one.”