“Why?” asked his companion, with a felicitous brevity and straightforwardness which occasionally marked his conversation.
“Because then I would have a swim in it everyday.”
“Can you swim?” asked Charlie, a slight elevation of the eyebrows indicating surprise not unmingled with admiration—for our hero was a hero-worshipper. He could not well have been a hero otherwise!
“Of course I can swim,” returned Shank; “that is to say, a little; but I feel sure that I’ll be a splendid swimmer some day.”
His companion’s look of admiration increased.
“What’ll you take to drink?” asked Shank, drawing a large flask from the pocket in which he had concealed it up to that moment with the express purpose of giving his companion a pleasant surprise.
It may be well to add that the variety of dunks implied in his question was imaginary. Shank had only one flask, but in the exuberance of convivial generosity he quoted his own father—who was addicted to “the bottle.”
“What is it?” asked Brooke, in curious expectancy.
“Taste and see,” said his friend, uncorking the flask.
Charlie tasted, but did not “see,” apparently, for he looked solemn, and tasted again.