"'Is it--is it--_heavy_, William?' I falters. Then you couldn't
hear nothin', for our hearts had cease to beat. He let loose of a
roar same as a lion that's skipped atop of his prey.

'Ezekiel G. W. Scraggs!' he shrieks, 'she's full!'

"'I wish no better luck myself,' says I. 'Trot her out!'

"When the light of the lantern fell upon that bottle we got a
shock. Instead of the cheerin' color that usually fills useful
bottles, the contents of this here one was green--green as grass
off a June hillside.

"'Well!' says William, 'what in--where in--why, it's perfumery!' he
hollers, and raises it for a smash.

"'Hold, William! Hold!' says I. 'It's got red sealin'-wax on the
top. If you break it before we take a sample you and me is the
best of friends parted in the middle, not to mention the
disturbance we'll make in this room.'

"So I took it away from him and looked at it in the candle-light.
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.'