Farnsworth was inwardly delighted.
He felt Father Beret's cunning approach to the central object and
his crafty method of gathering details.
The shades of evening thickened in the stuffy cabin room while the
conversation went on. Father Beret presently lifted a puncheon in
one corner of the floor and got out a large bottle, which bore a
mildewed and faded French label, and with it a small iron cup.
There was just light enough left to show a brownish sparkle when,
after popping out the cork, he poured a draught in the fresh cup
and in his own.
"We may think more clearly, my son, if we taste this old liquor. I
have kept it a long while to offer upon a proper occasion. The
occasion is here."
A ravishing bouquet quickly imbued the air. It was itself an
intoxication.
"The Brothers of St. Martin distilled this liquor," Father Beret
added, handing the cup to Farnsworth, "not for common social
drinking, my son, but for times when a man needs extraordinary
stimulation. It is said to be surpassingly good, because St.
Martin blessed the vine."
The doughty Captain felt a sudden and imperious thirst seize his
throat. The liquor flooded his veins before his lips touched the
cup. He had been abstaining lately; now his besetting appetite
rushed upon him. At one gulp he took in the fiery yet smooth and
captivating draught.
Pages:
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323