I thought, if he was determined to treat me, to show his good feelin's towards me, I would get somethin' useful, and that would do me some good, else what would be the use of bein' treated? And I thought, if I had got to take a present from a strange man, I would make a shirt for Josiah out of it: I thought that would make it all right, so fur as goodness went.
But says he, “I mean beer, or wine, or liquor of some kind.”
I jest riz right up in my shoes and my dignity, and glared at him.
Says he, “There is a saloon right here handy in the buildin'.”
Says I, in awful axents, “It is very appropriate to have it right here handy.” Says I, “Liquor does more towards makin' the laws of the United States, from caucus to convention, than any thing else does; and it is highly proper to have some liquor here handy, so they can soak the laws in it right off, before they lay 'em onto the tables, or under 'em, or pass 'em onto the people. It is highly appropriate,” says I.
“Yes,” says he. “It is very handy for the senators. And let me get you a glass.”
“No, you won't,” says I firmly, “no, you won't. The nation suffers enough from that room now, without havin' Josiah Allen's wife let in.”
Says he (his friendship for Bub Smith makin' him anxious and sot on helpin' me), “If you have any feeling of delicacy in going in there, let me make some wine here. I will get a glass of water, and make you some pure grape wine, or French brandy, or corn or rye whiskey. I have all the drugs right here.” And he took out a little box out of his pocket. “My father is a importer of rare old wines, and I know just how it is done. I have 'em all here,—capiscum, coculus Indicus, alum, coperas, strychnine. I will make some of the choicest and purest imported liquors we have in the country, in five minutes, if you say so.”