“Ah, well,” replied the Superintendent, “I bow to your experience,” making a brave attempt to meet her mood and declining to note her unusual excitement.
In the specified five minutes the tea was ready.
“I could quite accept your tea-drinking theory, Mrs. Cameron,” said Inspector Dickson, “if—if, mark you—I should always get such tea as this. But I don't believe Jerry here would agree.”
Jerry, who had just entered, stood waiting explanation.
“Mrs. Cameron has just been upholding the virtue of a good cup of tea, Jerry, over a hot Scotch after a cold ride. Now what's your unbiased opinion?”
A slight grin wrinkled the cracks in Jerry's leather-skin face.
“Hot whisky—good for fun—for cold no good. Whisky good for sleep—for long trail no good.”
“Thank you, Jerry,” cried Mandy enthusiastically.
“Oh, that's all right, Jerry,” said the Inspector, joining in the general laugh that followed, “but I don't think Miss Moira here would agree with you in regard to the merits of her national beverage.”
“Oh, I am not so sure,” cried the young lady, entering into the mood of the others. “Of course, I am Scotch and naturally stand up for my country and for its customs, but, to be strictly honest, I remember hearing my brother say that Scotch was bad training for football.”