“What is it?” asked Rodney.
“Some of old Gran’ser Lander’s bottled elixir of life. Gee! it does stir up a feller’s blood and make him feel good and warm. Don’t be afraid of it; take a good pull.”
Davis thrust a gurgling bottle into Grant’s hand.
“Oh, I don’t believe I want any of that stuff,” laughed Rod. “I’m not cold.”
“Do you good, just the same,” declared Bunk. “You don’t know what we’re offering you. It’s nothing but harmless cider. Go ahead and try it.”
Thus adjured, the boy from Texas removed the stopper and tipped the bottle to his lips. One small swallow was quite enough; he spat out the second mouthful.
“Cider!” he exclaimed. “It tastes like vinegar to me. You don’t mean to say you like that stuff?”
“No vinegar about it,” said Lander, with a touch of indignation. “It’s just plain hard cider, doctored and bottled by my old grandpop. I had hard work sneaking it out under my coat. Perhaps you may not like the taste of it at first, Rod, but you’ll get so you’ll like it if you keep trying it.”
“It gives you that funny feeling, that funny feeling,” chanted Davis, ending with a silly laugh.
Disgusted with them, Rod forced the bottle into Spotty’s hands.