The bottle came, and the door of the little room was closed. Captain Chinks seated himself on one side of the table, on which the bottle and glasses were placed, and invited Ezekiel to occupy a chair on the other side. The captain pushed the brandy and a glass towards his guest, who needed no persuasion to induce him to partake of the choice liquor. He poured out about half a tumbler of the stuff, but he kept his hand over the glass,—he was a wily toper,—so that his host should not see how much he took. He added a very little water to the fiery fluid, and then held the glass in his trembling hand till the captain was ready to join him. The man with a doubtful reputation did not cover his glass with his hand; if he had thought it necessary, he would have done it in order to conceal how small, rather than how large, a dram he took. He only covered the bottom of the tumbler, and then deluged the liquor with water. Captain Chinks was a cunning man, and he knew that brandy unfits a man for business, impairs his judgment, and blunts his perception. He took a small dram.
"Here's to you," said Ezekiel.
"Thank you; my respects," added Captain Chinks.
The toper drained his glass. The liquor was strong, and the tears drowned his eyes as he swallowed the fiery fluid.
"That's good brandy!" exclaimed he, as soon as he could speak.
"First chop," replied Captain Chinks. "You couldn't buy that brandy in Portland for three dollars a bottle. In my opinion that article never paid tribute to Uncle Sam."
"'Tain't no wus for that," said Ezekiel, with a cheerful grin.
"That's so."
"'Tain't right to charge no duties on liquors. That's the reason we git so much pizen stuff. You can hardly git a drop of good brandy for sickness now, without you pay four or five dollars a bottle for it; and I can't afford to pay no such prices," added Ezekiel, deeply moved at this terrible grievance.
"Well, I reckon there's more of it comes in from the provinces without paying any duties than most people think, though I don't know anything about it myself."