“I should think so,” he interrupted. “Allow me to ask what you paid for this tea?”
“One dollar and fifteen cents a pound.”
“And what does it taste like?”
“Tea! Well, there are some people that can hardly tell wash-basin slops from the best Bohea.”
“But, then,” I hurriedly explained, to moderate his disgust, “china is so liable to be broken; I had once an entire case of liquor smashed by my guides.”
“Yes, and that liquor-case is a case in point; because that was lost you do not give up carrying liquor, do you? Then why cease using china cups, not that they have been, but only from fear that they may be broken?”
“They are so much heavier than tin,” I remonstrated.
“As if the weight of two cups, one for you and one for me, and two plates, was so serious. Let’s dispense with something else; take less to eat, if you please, but have it decently served.”
Convinced by this eloquence, I meekly promised to comply on our next expedition, but Don was not altogether satisfied, and continued: