Nor bothered.
“Come now!” cries he, dissembling great candor and heartiness, “is you got any questions t’ ask ol’ Nick Top?”
“No, sir,” I answered, quite confidently.
“Dannie, lad,” says my uncle, unable to contain his delight, with which, indeed, his little eyes brimmed over, “an ye’d jus’ be so damned good as t’ tweak that there––”
I pulled the bell-cord.
“A nip o’ the best Jamaica,” says he.
Old Elihu Wall fetched the red dram.
“Lad,” says my uncle, his glass aloft, his eyes resting upon me in pride, his voice athrill with passionate conviction, “here’s t’ you! That’s good o’ you,” says he. “That’s very good. I ’low I’ve fetched ye up very well. Ecod!” he swore, with most reverent and gentle intention, “ye’ll be a gentleman afore ye knows it!”
He downed the liquor with a grin that came over his lurid countenance like a burst of low sunshine.