CHAPTER IV

WE LEARN MORE OF SYLVIA


Andrew Kelton put out his hand to say good-night a moment after Sylvia
had vanished.

"Sit down, Andrew," said Mrs. Owen. "It's too early to go to bed. That
draft's not good for the back of your head. Sit over here."

He had relaxed after the departure of the dinner guests and looked tired
and discouraged. Mrs. Owen brought a bottle of whiskey and a pitcher of
water and placed them near his elbow.

"Try it, Andrew. I usually take a thimbleful myself before going to
bed."

The novelty of this sort of ministration was in itself sufficient to
lift a weary and discouraged spirit. Mrs. Owen measured his whiskey, and
poured it into a tall glass, explaining as she did so that a friend of
hers in Louisville kept her supplied out of the stores of the Pendennis
Club.

"It's off the wood. This bottled drug-store whiskey is poison. I'd just
as lief take paregoric. I drew this from my own 'bar'l' this morning.
Don't imagine I'm a heavy consumer. A 'bar'l' lasts me a long time. I
divide it around among my friends. Remind me to give you some to take