Page:The Night Born (London,1913).djvu/237

a man's drink. I never like to see women at it. Wine 's more their stuff."

She raised her glass to his, her eyes meltingly sympathetic.

"Here 's to finding you a good position—"

But she broke off at sight of the expression of surprised disgust on his face. The glass, barely touched, was removed from his wry lips.

"What is the matter?" she asked anxiously. "Don't you like it? Have I made a mistake?"

"It's sure funny whisky. Tastes like it got burned and smoked in the making."

"Oh ! How silly of me ! I gave you Scotch. Of course you are accustomed to rye. Let me change it."

She was almost solicitiously maternal, as she replaced the glass with another and sought and found the proper bottle.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. No smoke in it. It 's sure the real good stuff. I ain't had a drink in a week. Kind of slick, that; oily, you know; not made in a chemical factory."

"You are a drinking man?"

It was half a question, half a challenge.

"No, ma'am, not to speak of. I have rared up