Clodd appeared to be in a mighty hurry. Now, this made Peter only the more suspicious. The bottle was close to his hand. Clodd tried to intercept him, but was not quick enough.
“You’re not used to temperance drinks,” urged Clodd. “Your palate is not accustomed to them.”
“I can tell whether it’s ‘delicious’ or not, surely?” pleaded Peter, who had pulled out the cork.
“It’s a quarter-page advertisement for thirteen weeks. Put it down and don’t be a fool!” urged Clodd.
“I’m going to put it down,” laughed Peter, who was fond of his joke. Peter poured out half a tumblerful, and drank—some of it.
“Like it?” demanded Clodd, with a savage grin.
“You are sure—you are sure it was the right bottle?” gasped Peter.
“Bottle’s all right,” Clodd assured him. “Try some more. Judge it fairly.”
Peter ventured on another sip. “You don’t think they would be satisfied if I recommended it as a medicine?” insinuated Peter—“something to have about the house in case of accidental poisoning?”
“Better go round and suggest the idea to them yourself. I’ve done with it.” Clodd took up his hat.