"There's half a pint of ale for you. Will you have it now?"
I thanked him and said "Yes." Upon which he poured it out of a jug into a large tumbler, and held it up against the light, and made it look beautiful.
"My eye!" he said. "It seems a good deal, don't it?"
"It does seem a good deal," I answered with a smile. For it was quite delightful to me to find him so pleasant. He was a twinkling-eyed, pimple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head; and as he stood with one arm a-kimbo, holding up the glass to the light with the other hand, he looked quite friendly.
"There was a gentleman here, yesterday," he said—"a stout gentleman, by the name of Topsawyer—perhaps you know him."
"No," I said, "I don't think—"
"In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, gray coat, speckled choker," said the waiter.
"No," I said, bashfully, "I haven't the pleasure—"
"He came in here," said the waiter, looking at the light through the tumbler, "ordered a glass of this ale—would order it—I told him not—drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him. It oughtn't to be drawn; that's the fact."
I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy accident, and said I thought I had better have some water.