Sit down, gentlemen. A little brandy will do you good. It will drive away coughs, colds and rheumatism which will follow the cold bath we took this morning. Brandy. Pure brandy. Here, Stupid, (addressing the servant,) fill up these glasses with the pure cognac. Now my men, lay to and help yourselves. Don’t feel timid because you are in the house of a Lord. Eat, drink and be merry, for this, my son, was dead, but now is alive. He was lost, but now is found. Hic—hic—Come, Stupid, fill up the glasses—hic—hic.
It was evident that his Lordship had freely imbibed of his beverage, brandy, before he sent for his friends, and it was with difficulty that he could maintain an erect position in his chair.
He commenced again:—
Come, hearties—heave to and get yourselves on the outside of that bottle of brandy. Hic—hic—It’s the pure juice—hic. Here’s to Cap-Cap-Captain Davis and the Reindeer. Why in the devil don’t you drink?
My Lord, you must excuse us, said Walter. We don’t drink. We have pledged ourselves not to touch, taste or handle strong drink. We think the soul more merry and the body more active without it.
Who the devil are you? what the devil are you? where did you come from? Hic—hic. This is a day of surprises. The arrival of the Reindeer was a surprise—my baptism was a surprise—but the climax of all surprises is to find three man-of-war’s men—three Englishmen that refuse brandy. Impossible! Increditable! Unnatural. Come boys, lay to, take a swig with the old man, and suiting the action to the word, downed another glass of brandy.
I say, Stupid, why don’t you make these old tars d-r-i-n-k. Yes-d-r-i-n-k-hic-hic.
The old man dropped his glass and fell back in his chair in a drunken slumber. Walter viewed him intently for a few moments, then said:
Rather a bad example for a grand-father to set before his son.