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'T'aint right to be bitin' a feller when whisky's two dollars a gallon. Dern all foreigners, anyhow!" And the mortal part pulled on its boots. TALL TALK. A Call to Dinner.
I'm afraid ye aren't in very good health, after a-all.... Eh?... Mrs. Gourla', Mrs. Gourla'! He's in very bad case, this son of yours, Mrs. Gourla'! Fine I ken what he needs, though. Set out the brandy, Jenny, set out the brandy," he roared; "whisky's not worth a damn for him! Stop; it was you gaed the last time it's your turn now, auld wife, it's your turn now!
He'd say... What kind of whisky's this?" "O'Rafferty Special." "New to me. Not bad. Quite good. Sound. Mellow. Wherej get it?" "Bilby's in Oxford Street." "Must order some. Mellow. He'd say... well, God knows what he'd say. Whatch doing it for? Whatch doing it for? That's what I can't see. None of us can see. Puzzles your uncle George. Baffles your aunt Geraldine. Nobody can understand it.
"Any hotel in this place?" he asked of the ticket agent, the telegraph operator, and the baggageman, who was pushing a crate of vegetables off a truck. "Swan's Hotel; only one." "Do people sleep and eat there?" "If they have good digestions." "Much obliged." "Whisky's no good, either." "Thanks again. This doesn't look much like a summer resort." "Nobody ever said it was.
'Hot whisky is good f'r a cold heart, an' no whisky's good f'r a hot head, he says. 'Th' minyit a man relies on it f'r a crutch he loses th' use iv his legs. 'Tis a bad thing to stand on, a good thing to sleep on, a good thing to talk on, a bad thing to think on. If it's in th' head in th' mornin' it ought not to be in th' mouth at night. If it laughs in ye, dhrink; if it weeps, swear off.
He looked at Dad again; then winked slyly at Canty, and said to Dad, in an altered tone: "Whisky's a good thing for it, old man, if you've got any." Nothing but a groan came from Dad, but Mother shook her head sadly in the negative. "Any oil of tar?" Mother brightened up. "There's a little oil in the house," she said, "but I don't know if we've any tar. Is there, Joe in that old drum?" "Nurh."
It's entirely my fault, for being drunk." "Well, putting it that way, you're right about it," agreed the adaptable Lew. "Of course, if you hadn't been " "If whisky's going to let a fellow in for things like this, it's time to cut it out altogether." Ford was looking at the agent attentively. "That's right," assented the other unsuspectingly. "Whisky is sure giving you the worst of it all around.
"We don't keep no medicine," growled the landlord. "Have you root-beer?" asked Herbert. "What do you take me for?" said the landlord, contemptuously. "I haven't got no root-beer. Whisky's good enough for any man." "I hope you'll excuse me, then," said Herbert. "I am not used to any strong drinks." "How old are you?" asked the colonel, rather contemptuously. "Sixteen."
"Ta Heelan hills are high, high, high, An' ta Heelan miles are long; But, then, my freens, rememper you, Ta Heelan whisky's strong, strong, strong! Ta Heelan whisky's strong, "And who shall care for ta length o' ta mile, Or who shall care for ta hill, If he shall have, 'fore he teukit ta way, In him's cheek one Heelan shill? In him's cheek one Heelan shill?
He was full of boot-leg whisky " "What kind of whisky's that, pa?" asked Custer. "That," said Mr. Shrimplin, looking into the round innocent face of his son, "that's the stuff the traders used to sell the Indians. Strong? Well, you might say it was middling strong just middling about three drops of it would make a rabbit spit in a bulldog's face!"
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