From the odour, I had ascertained this for myself before he spoke.
"No, thanks, Jake, I don't drink."
"Holy mackinaw!" he exclaimed, almost dropping the cups in his astonishment. "If you don't drink, how in the Sam Hill are you going to make it stick up here? Why, man, you'll go batty in the winter time, for it's lonely as hell."
"From all accounts, Jake, hell is not a very lonely place," I laughed.
"Aw!—you know what I mean," he put in.
"I'll have plenty of work to do in the store; enough to keep me from feeling lonely."
"Not you. Once it's goin', it'll be easy's rollin' off'n a log. What'll you do o' nights, 'specially winter nights,—if you don't drink?"
He sat down and began to empty his cup of liquor by the gulp.
His dog, which had been lying sullenly on the floor near the stove, got up and ambled leisurely to Jake's feet. It looked up at him as he drank, then it put its two front paws on Jake's knees, as if to attract his attention.
Meaghan stopped his imbibing and stroked the dog's head.