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Updated: May 22, 2025
Remorseful at her defection, she constituted herself his slave; she covered him with acquiescences; she drank his tippler's breath. And he was not particularly responsive. He had all his own ideas. He ought, for example, to have been hungry, but his idea was that he was not hungry; therefore he had refused her dishes. She knew him better now.
His hands were trembling slightly with the first beginnings of alcoholism, but he looked a sterling old fellow for all that, and a long white beard lent that fiery tippler's face of his a truly venerable appearance. Then in the silence of the room, while the shower of hail was whipping the panes of the great window that looked out on the courtyard, he shook himself disgustedly.
The shock of his strange advent momentarily silenced the quarrel; but soon it leaped up again, under the shelter of the noisy music, the common, tedious, tippler's quarrel. It rose higher and higher. The fiddler looked askance at it over his fiddle. Chirac cautiously observed it. Instead of attending to the music, the festal company attended to the quarrel.
With a pair of compasses he measures his cheese, to see whether any of it has been stolen since the last meal! That is a good story! Here is another! 'The Czar has a Tippler's Club. Once they determined to hold a festival, and the guests were shut up three days and three nights in order to drink.
Then with the fine weather came a piece of luck, Coupeau was engaged to work in the country at Etampes; and he was there for nearly three months without once getting drunk, cured for a time by the fresh air. One has no idea what a quench it is to the tippler's thirst to leave Paris where the very streets are full of the fumes of wine and brandy.
Rather starve. 'I did. 'Your reason for playing, poor lad? 'The reason eludes reason. 'Not in you. 'Sight of the tables; an itch to try them one's self as well; a notion that the losers were playing wrong. In fine, a bit of a whirl of a medley of atoms; I can't explain it further. 'Ah. The tippler's fumes in his head! Spotty business, Gower Woodseer.
Rather starve. 'I did. 'Your reason for playing, poor lad? 'The reason eludes reason. 'Not in you. 'Sight of the tables; an itch to try them one's self as well; a notion that the losers were playing wrong. In fine, a bit of a whirl of a medley of atoms; I can't explain it further. 'Ah. The tippler's fumes in his head! Spotty business, Gower Woodseer.
One sniff at the neck of the bottle was enough to satisfy Christy, who was a practical temperance man of the very strictest kind, and he had never drank a glass of anything intoxicating in all his life. The bottle contained "apple-jack," or apple-brandy, the vilest fluid that ever passed a tippler's gullet.
Many a time has he helped various unsteady gentlemen up the steps of their houses and stowed them carefully and noiselessly away inside, only to begin his rounds again, stopping at every corner to drone out his "All's we-l-l!" a welcome cry, no doubt, to the stowaways, but a totally unnecessary piece of information to the inhabitants, nothing worse than a tippler's tumble having happened in the forty years of the old watchman's service.
I again took speech in hand, but I suspect my words had still the thickness of the tippler's utterance, for they seemed not to carry much conviction, "Dear friends, I quite understand your feelings; appearances are so strangely against me. But I am not drunken, as ye suppose. I have tasted no intoxicating drink, I am a life-long Total Abstainer!" This fairly broke down their reserve.
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