“And pray what may that be?” asked his master.
“Why, mayster, I’ve seen what’s filled scores of homes and hearts with boggarts. I’ve seen the bottles as holds the drink—the strong drink as ruins millions upon millions.”
Frank started as if pierced by a sudden sting. His colour went and came. He walked hastily a step or two towards the house, and then turned back.
“And pray, my friend Jacob,” he said, with a forced assumption of gaiety, “why should my little bottle of spirits be worse for you than ten thousand boggarts?”
“Oh, Mayster Frank, Mayster Frank,” was the reply, “just excuse me, and hearken to me one minute. I thought when I left my home, where the drink had drowned out all as was good, as I should never love any one any more. I thought as I’d try and get through the world without heart at all—but it wasn’t to be. The captain found a soft place in my heart, and I loved him. But that were nothing at all to the love I’ve had to yourself, Mayster Frank. I loved you afore you saved my life, and I’ve loved you better nor my own life ever since you saved it. And oh, I can’t abide to see you throw away health and strength, and your good name and all, for the sake of that wretched drink as’ll bring you to misery and beggary and shame. Oh, don’t—dear mayster, don’t—don’t keep the horrid poison in your house. It’s poison to you, as I’ve seen it poison to scores and scores, eating out manhood, withering out womanhood, crushing down childhood, shrivelling up babyhood. I’ll live for you, Mayster Frank, work for you, slave for you, wage or no wage—ay, I’ll die for you, if need be—only do, do give up this cursed, ruinous, body and soul-destroying drink.”
“Jacob, I will—I will!” cried his master, deeply touched. “Every word you say is true. I’m a miserable, worthless wretch. I don’t deserve the love and devotion of a noble lad like you.”
“Nay, mayster—don’t say so,” cried Jacob; “but oh, if you’d only sign the pledge, and be an out-and-out gradely teetottaller, it’d be the happiest day of my life.”
“Well, Jacob, I’ll see about the signing. I daresay I shall have to do it. But you may depend upon me. I’ll turn over a new leaf. There—if it’ll be any pleasure to you—you may take all that’s left in my cupboard, and smash away at the bottles, as good Mr Oliphant did.”
Jacob needed no second permission. Ale, wine, and spirit-bottles were brought out—though but few were left that had not been emptied. However, empty or full, they fell in a few moments before the energetic blows of the delighted Jacob Poole.
“You’ll never repent it,” he said to his master.