He persisted in his persuasions, and, in the end, he won her acquiescence. After all, here were the walls of the city about her, and she had no choice.
While they had been talking, the waiter had returned and had placed before each of them one of the stemmed glasses full of the pale yellow concoction that Max had ordered.
"Vell," grinned the host, "here's happy returns of the day un' many of them."
He took his glass in his hairy hand and flung the contents down his throat.
But Mary looked at the drink in growing alarm.
"Isn't it whiskey?" she asked.
"No-o-o! I don't drink vhiskey. This is only vermout' un' tchin."
"Gin's just the same as whiskey," the girl protested.
"Not by a long sighd it ain't."
"It's liquor, anyhow."