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Updated: May 28, 2025
Sandwiches, shortbread, and cleanest Glenlivet Elshander's Feast: "'Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies Sheepshanks provided the whisky. Rise, Elshander: observe that you have no worlds left to conquer, and, having shed the perfunctory tear, pass the corkscrew.
Oliver's mother bragged about his niece, Heather, and her latest swimming triumphs. She complained about the long winter and how crowded the Connecticut shore had become. "It may be crowded," Oliver said, "but you get daffodils three weeks before we do." Oliver sipped his second Glenlivet and looked back from the darkening harbor. "I wish I had known my grandfather," he said to his mother.
"But I like Verdi. It will be no trouble. When are you leaving?" "Friday." "No problem. Would you like a drink? We don't get to chat often." "Sure." "Let me see. I have ale and, of course, the hard stuff." "You wouldn't have any Glenlivet, by any chance?" Arlen smiled. "Would Laphroiag do?" "Damn, Arlen. I'll choke it down. Yes." Arlen poured two drinks. "Another day, another dollar," he toasted.
When the tea was brewed, the old woman went to her blue kist, and brought out a bottle of Glenlivet, "just to tak' off the wersh taste o' the tea;" and Maggie, perceiving they had set down for a morning's gossip and reminiscence, said, "I'll awa' up the beach a wee, friends. I hae a headache, and I'll see if the wind will blow it awa'." No one opposed the proposition.
"It was young writing, and made for the young. The opinions were charmingly wrong, and its enthusiasm was half Glenlivet. But this delighted the boys. There were no reprints then, and to pass the paper-cutter up the fresh inviting pages was like swinging over the heather arm in arm with Christopher himself.
He enquired first as to their habits, and was presented with scones, kippered salmon, and a gallon of Glenlivet; as to their manners and ancient costume, and was pointed out a short fat man, the head of his clan, who promenaded the streets without trousers. Neither did he find the delineation of their customs more satisfactory.
"Ah, John, better late than never," he exclaimed gutturally. "Come in and have a smoke." "Yes, I thought I'd just come right down and see if you'd got any news." "None none, old friend. Nothing at all. Horrocks is a fool, I'm thinking. Take that chair," pointing to the basket chair. "You're not looking up to the mark. Have a nip of Glenlivet."
He was getting wet, he realized. He stopped in Florence for a cup of coffee. There was no sign of his father. He drove back to Eugene and took a long hot shower. The envelope lay unopened on top of the table by the TV. Oliver took a nap and went out for dinner. He sipped Glenlivet, a bit disappointed he had learned so little about his father.
Oliver took special pleasure in pouring a Glenlivet for Arlen. They stood in amiable silence as rain dripped from the barn roof. "Couple of cows and I'd be right at home," Arlen said. "I've been thinking of getting a little John Deere." "Well they can come in handy." "I guess." Oliver's thoughts drifted to Jacky. She appeared, on cue, walking up the drive. He met her with a hug. "Jacky!
In a corner of the room, band instruments waited by empty stools. Joe repaired to the bar in the next room. A short intense woman pouted when he ordered Glenlivet. "That's so easy." "Are you bored? Want to practice something complicated?" "No, that's all right." She put the whiskey in front of him with a quick smile. One Scotch and then wine.
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