Todd, bring three glasses and hand me what is left of the old Port.

And do you join us, Pawson." Todd, whose eyes had been popping from his head during the entire interview, and who was still amazed at the outcome, suddenly woke to the dangers of the situation: on no account must his master's straits be further revealed.

He raised his hand as a signal to St.George, who was still looking into Gadgem's eyes, screwed his face into a tangle of puckers and in a husky whisper muttered, so low that only his master could hear: "Dat Port, Marse George"-- one eye now went entirely out in a wink--"is gittin' a leetle mite low" (there hadn't been a drop of it in the house for six months) "an' if--" "Well, then, that old Brown Sherry--get a fresh bottle, Todd--" St.
George was quite honest, and so, for that matter, was Todd: the Brown Sherry had also seen its day.
"Yes, sah--but how would dat fine ol' peach brandy de jedge gin ye do?
It's sp'ilin' to be tasted, sah." Both eyes were now in eclipse in the effort to apprise his master that with the exception of some badly corked Madeira, Tom Coston's peach brandy was about the only beverage left in the cellar.
"Well, the old peach brandy, then--get it at once and serve it in the large glasses.".