“The vine,” said the judge, “inspired some of the choicest outbursts of classic poetry; I suppose the distillery will some day inspire a truly American muse—you don't follow me?”
“Not quite.”
“The point is that I may speak with an abandon I should eschew at another time. Five hot whiskies make a difference in the intensity of a man's emotions. To-morrow I shall probably regret my candour; so I want to feel that in remembering what I say to-night, you will not fail to recall that this excellent mixture may have had something to do with it.”
“I think I understand,” said Benson laughing.
“Two o'clock in the morning confidences are always personal, Jake; a man seldom stays up late unless it is to talk of himself, or to drink, and in either case the result is the same; he says too much.”
“Aren't you rather forgetting Mrs. Landray?” inquired Benson.
“Jake, it's outrageous that she should be allowed to sacrifice herself.”
“I didn't know—” began Benson.
“You are going to say you didn't know it was a matter of any interest to me.”
“Something of the sort,” said Benson. “When I came back you did seem interested, but I didn't take it seriously; and to tell you the truth your interest struck me as premature.”