"Strike one," she said, and added when he had done so, "Set fire to the whiskey!"
He succeeded in making the spirit burn, and for a little while she and he stood by the table while the cold blue flames curled out of the saucer, wavering and spurting, until the spirit was consumed and the flame flickered and expired.
"That's what a drunkard's inside is like," said Mrs. MacDermott, picking up the saucer and carrying it downstairs to the scullery to be washed. He heard the water splashing in the sink, and when he had put the bottle of whiskey back in the cupboard, he went downstairs and waited until she had finished. She returned to the kitchen, carrying the washed saucer, and when she had placed it on the dresser, she took up a Bible and brought it to him.
"I want you to swear to me," she said, "that you'll never taste a drop of drink as long as you live!"
"That's easy enough," he answered. "I don't like it!"
She looked up at him in alarm. "Have you tasted it already, then?" she asked.
"Yes. How would I know I didn't like it if I hadn't tasted it? The smell of it is enough to knock you down!"
She put the Bible back on the dresser. "It doesn't matter," she said when he held out his hand for it. "Mebbe you have enough strength of your own to resist it. I ... I don't always understand you, John, and I'm fearful sometimes to see you so sure of yourself." She came to him suddenly and swiftly, and clasped him close to her. "I love you with the whole of my heart, son," she said, "and I'm desperate anxious about you!"
"You needn't be anxious about me, ma!" he answered. "I'm all right!"
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