“Thank you; but I am traveling for my health, and it would not be prudent.”
“Just as you say, Melville; but a little whisky would warm you up and do you good, in my opinion.”
“Thank you all the same, colonel; but I think you must count me out.”
The colonel shrugged his shoulders and beckoned Herbert.
“You can come, anyway; your health won't prevent.”
Melville did not interfere, for he knew it would give offense, but he hoped his young clerk would refuse.
“Thank you,” said Herbert; “I won't object to a glass of sarsaparilla.”
“Sarsaparilla!” repeated the colonel, in amazement. “What's that?”
“We don't keep no medicine,” growled the landlord.
“Have you root-beer?” asked Herbert.