"Now the brandy."
"But this will be cold punch."
"Yes, it's just as good; milk punch is always cold."
"I'm blest if this is milk punch," said Mr Bevan, as he looked fearfully into the bowl; "but go on."
"I am going as quick as I can," she replied. Then the whisky went in, and half a tumblerfull of curaçoa also, the lemon cut in slices and the peaches that remained.
"I haven't anything more to throw in," said Fanny, casting her eye over the sardines and the ox tongue. "We ought to have grapes and things; no matter, stir it up and set it on fire, and see what it tastes like."
"But, my dear child," said the horrified Charles, as he stirred the seething mixture with the old silver ladle into whose belly a guinea had been beaten. "You surely don't expect me to drink this fearful stuff? I thought you were making it for fun."
"You taste it and see, but set it on fire first."
He struck a match.