"'First-rate,' was his reply. 'It contains a prime article of good old 'rye,' I can tell you. The best I have ever tasted. Come, won't you go home with me and try some?'
"'No, I believe not.'"
"'Do now—come along,' and he took me by the button, and pulled me gently. 'You don't know how fine it is. I am sure there is not another barrel like it in the town.'
"'You must really excuse me, Bradly,' I replied, for I found that he was in earnest, and what was more, had a watery look about the eyes, that argued badly for him, I thought.
"'Well, if you won't, you won't,' he said. 'But you always were an unsocial kind of a fellow.'
"And so we parted. Six months had not passed before it was rumoured through the neighbourhood, that Bradly had begun to neglect his business; and that he spent too much of his time at Harry Arnold's. I met his wife one day, about this time, and, really, her distressed look gave me the heart ache. Something is wrong, certainly, I said to myself. It was only a week after, that I met poor Bradly intoxicated.
"'Ah, Malcom—good day—How are you?' he said, reeling up to me and offering his hand.—'You havn't tried that good old rye of mine yet. Come along now, it's most gone.'
"'You must excuse me today, Mr. Bradly,' I replied, trying to pass on.
"But he said I should not get off this time—that home with him I must go, and take a dram from his whiskey-barrel. Of course, I did not go. If there had been no other reason, I had no desire, I can assure you, to meet his wife while her husband was in so sad a condition. After awhile I got rid of him, and right glad was I to do so."
"Come, that'll do for one day!" broke in Harry Arnold, the grog-shop-keeper, at this point, not relishing too well the allusions to himself, nor, indeed, the drift of the narrative, which he very well understood.