But a mere drop does not suffice as a friend of mine found out.
He was wont to reward his car-driver with a glass of whisky, and gave it to him in an antique glass, which did not contain as much as cabby wished for.
'That's a very quare glass, captain,' says he.
'Yes,' replied Captain Stevens; 'that's blown glass.'
'Why, Captain,' says the carman, 'the man must have been damned short in the breath that blew that.'
This would no doubt have been the opinion of a Dublin carman who was in the habit of bringing a present to an acquaintance of mine from a lady living at some distance, and being recompensed with a glass of grog. By degrees, however, the water grew to be the predominant partner in the union within the glass, so at last he burst out in disgust:—
'If you threw a tumbler of whisky over Carlisle Bridge, it would be better grog than that at the Pigeon House.'
Which being interpreted into cockneyism would read, 'If you threw a glass of whisky over Westminster Bridge it would be better grog than that at Greenwich Pier.'
Still all consumption of liquor is not confined to Ireland, and I well remember when I was with Bogue in Scotland, that one night he had a fellow-farmer of the very best type to dine with him, and about ten o'clock, with much difficulty, my man and I hoisted him into the saddle.
An hour afterwards we heard a knock at the door, and a voice rather quaveringly inquired:—