"Admirable!" exclaimed Uncle WILLIAM. "One cannot be too refined. Call it the blank. It goes into your blank. Well, whiskey raises the tone of the blank. Just as, when you screw up the peg of a violin, you raise the tone of the string. By drinking this I raise the tone of my blank." He suited the action to the word.
"Now you'll be screwed," said CHARLIE, "like the pegs of the—"
"On one glass of weak whiskey-and-water—never!"
"But why hasn't a brick any fluidity?" asked SARAH, quite patiently.
"First of all, listen to this. That whiskey-and-water is now inside me. I want you to understand what inside means. Go and stand in the passage, and shut the door of this room after you."
"But, Uncle," said SARAH, patiently, "why hasn't a brick any—"
"Hush, SARAH, hush!" said the obedient CHARLIE. "It is our duty to obey Uncle WILLIAM in all things."
So the two children went out of the room, and shut the door after them. Uncle WILLIAM went to the door, and locked it.
"Now then," he said, cheerily, "I am inside. And where are you?"
"Outside."