O'Reilly put a persuasiveness into the last words that revealed Achille to me as an honest merchant confronted with the most subtle of temptations.
"O'Reilly," I said, "was that fair?"
"Maybe not, but I'd the Gin'ral an' the honour o' the Rig'mint fixed in me mind. 'That's a good joke, very good,' says Achille; but thore was niver a smile on his face.
"'I 'd no intintion to make anny joke,' says I. 'Come, Achille, you're a knowin' man. Would there be no way at all?'
"Now it happened that he'd lift the door o' the little room open, an' I could see a bit o' a garden through the window. 'What's the shtuff growin' out there,' says I, 'wid the dark red leaves to it, or maybe ye'd call thim purple?'
"'That's beet,' says he with a kind of a groan.
"'Beet,' says I. 'An' isn't beet a red kind of a thing an' mighty full o' juice?'
"'It is that,' says he, wid the eyes of him almost out o' his head.
"'Then how would it be,' says I, 'to touch up the white wine wid some o' that same juice?'