Alone, Quinney opened the cupboard beneath the china cabinet, taking from it a cut-glass decanter half-filled with brown sherry, and two glasses, which he placed upon his desk. Then he summoned Susan. She drifted in rather helplessly, somewhat of a wreck after the storm. Quinney ensconced her in a chair, filled the two glasses with wine, and pushed one across the desk to Susan. She shook her head.
"Drink it, you old spoof-sticks! Lordy, Sue, I didn't know you had it in yer! What a spirit! What a little tigress!"
He tossed off his glass, smacking his lips.
"I meant it, Joe."
"Tch! tch! In two sticks you'll have my pore leg pulled out of shape."
"I meant it, every word of it."
"What? You'd leave the best and kindest hubby in the world?"
"I'd leave a crool, heartless father."
For answer, Quinney seized his empty glass and slammed it down upon the desk, smashing it riotously. Susan said in the same weak, obstinate tone: "Do that to her dear heart, you would." He snatched at the full glass, and hurled that to the floor. Susan merely observed: "Another two shillings gone!"
"Two shillings? Ten! Old Bristol! Lovely stuff!"