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Updated: September 7, 2025
And then he returned with a strange-looking bottle, and this time the dignified servant poured the brilliant golden fluid into a tiny liqueur-glass. What could it be? Paul was familiar with most liqueurs. Had he not dined at every restaurant in London, and supped with houris who adored creme de menthe? But this was none he knew. He had heard of Tokay Imperial Tokay could it be that?
"Of all the double-dyed, ridiculous things, was the way that Crème de Menthe person took the sugar factory!" said a Canadian, who broke into a roar at the recollection of the monster's antics. "Good old girl, Crème de Menthe!
He had ordered the lunch with intense consideration; the wine was a very special Sauterne, the whole appointments of the meal perfect, the coffee served on the veranda super-excellent. Madame Lamotte accepted creme de menthe; Annette refused. Her manners were charming, with just a suspicion of 'the conscious beauty' creeping into them.
The inhabitants of Barbary do not like a wild life, they are extremely fond of what civilization can give them, such as creme de menthe, rifles, good waterworks, maps, and railways: only they would like to have these things without the bother of strict laws and of the police, and so forth. Travel in Barbary with seeing eyes and you find out all this new truth.
For weeks about all we knew about them was what we gathered from their appearance as they reeled along, camouflaged with browns and yellows like great toads, and that they were named with quaint names like "Creme de Menthe" and "Diplodocus."
Sure enough, there was the inspirin' words on it, 'Liqueur Creme de Menthe. A furreign way of spellin' liquor, to be sure, but what's a letter or two out of the way, so long as the results is in sight? "'William, says I, 'L-i-q, lick, u-e-u-r, er licker. Get glasses, William, and let us be joyful.
Though, it may be that on planes of which he knew nothing, long since it had been decided for him. None the less it hurt. It hurt horribly. From a pocket, he drew a little bottle. "Settle it then." "On what basis?" "All and be damned to her." But now the menthe that he had raised to his lips was trickling from the bottle, staining his tweeds. He hiccoughed, gasped, motioned.
The adventures of Creme de Menthe, Cordon Rouge, and the Byng Boys, on both sides of the Bapaume road, when they smashed down barbed wire, climbed over trenches, sat on German redoubts, and received the surrender of German prisoners who held their hands up to these monsters and cried, "Kamerad!" were like fairy-tales of war by H. G. Wells.
"You will find that I am not altogether an anchorite," Dartrey observed, as they settled into their places. "I am a lover of old brandy. The '68 I recommend especially, Tallente, and bring your chair round to the fire. There are cigars and cigarettes at your elbow. Miller, I think I know your taste. Help yourself, won't you?" Miller drank crème de menthe and smoked homemade Virginia cigarettes.
The affair at the Opera, attributed to a lunatic, had been buried safely, like his son, the scandal tossed in for shroud. How freely he had breathed since then! The little green bottle of menthe he had barely touched. He might live to see everything forgiven or, what is quite as satisfactory, forgotten. And now!
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