’Twas Judy who had put me up to it.
“Ye might be a drop more free!” my uncle accused.
’Twas reproachful––and hurt me sore. That I should deny my uncle who had never denied me! I blamed the woman. ’Tis marvellous how this frailty persists. That Judith, Twist Tickle born, should deliberately introduce the antagonism––should cause my uncle to suffer, me to regret! ’Twas hard to forgive the maid her indiscretion. I was hurt: for, being a lad, not a maid of subtle perceptions, I would not have my uncle go lacking that which comforted his distress and melancholy. Faith! but I had myself been looking forward with a thirsty gullet to the day––drawn near, as I thought––when I should like a man drink hard liquor with him in the glow of our fire: as, indeed, had he, by frank confession, indiscreetly made when he was grown horrified or wroth with my intemperance with ginger-ale.
“God save ye, Dannie!” he would expostulate, most 206 heartily, most piously; “but I wisht ye’d overcome the bilge-water habit.”
I would ignore him.
“’Tis on’y a matter o’ will,” says he. “’Tis nothin’ more than that. An’ I’m fair ashamed,” he groaned, in sincere emotion, “to think ye’re shackled, hand an’ foot, to a bottle o’ ginger-ale. For shame, lad––t’ come t’ such a pass.” He was honest in his expostulation; ’twas no laughing matter––’twas an anxiously grave concern for my welfare. He disapproved of the beverage––having never tasted it. “You,” cries he, with a pout and puff of scorn, “an’ your bilge-water! In irons with a bottle o’ ginger-ale! Could ye but see yourself, Dannie, ye’d quit quick enough. ’Tis a ridiculous picture ye make––you an’ your bottle. ’Twould not be hard t’ give it up, lad,” he would plead. “Ye’ll manage it, Dannie, an ye’d but put your mind to it. Ye’d be nervous, I’ve no doubt, for a spell. But what’s that? Eh, what’s that––ag’in your health?”
I would sip my ginger-ale unheeding.
“An’ what about Chesterfield?” says he.
“I’ll have another bottle, sir,” says I.
“Lord love us!” he would complain, in such distress that I wish I had not troubled him with this passion. “Ye’re fair bound t’ ruin your constitution with drink.”