one."

"One small ginger," ses Mr. Goodman to the bar-maid, "and one special
Scotch."

Sam could 'ardly believe his ears, and he stood there 'oldin' his glass
o' ginger-beer and watching Peter's teetotal uncle drink whiskey, and
thought 'e must be dreaming.

"I dessay it seems very shocking to you," ses Mr. Goodman, putting down
'is glass and dryin' 'is lips on each other, "but I find it useful for
these attacks."

"I--I s'pose the flavor's very nasty?" ses Sam, taking a sip at 'is
ginger-beer.

"Not exactly wot you could call nasty," ses Mr. Goodman, "though I dessay
it would seem so to you. I don't suppose you could swallow it."

"I don't s'pose I could," ses Sam, "but I've a good mind to 'ave a try.
If it's good for one teetotaller I don't see why it should hurt another."

Mr. Goodman looked at 'im very hard, and then he ordered a whiskey and
stood watching while Sam, arter pretending for a minnit to look at it as
though 'e didn't know wot to do with it, took a sip and let it roll round
'is mouth.

"Well?" ses Mr. Goodman, looking at 'im anxious-like.

"It ain't so 'orrid as I 'ad fancied," ses Sam, lap-ping up the rest very