You try it, Sam.

Mebby it might help them ears! Shove that there trouble-killer over this way, Sammy, and don't look so fierce at your uncle Bill; he's liable to turn you across his knee and dust your pants proper." He turned again to Ford, scowling at the group and at life in general, while the snow melted upon his broad shoulders and trickled in little, hurrying drops down to the nearest jumping-off place.

"Come, drownd your sorrer," Bill advised amiably.

"Nobody said nothing but Sammy, and I'll gamble he wishes he hadn't, now." If his counsel was vicious, his smile was engaging--which does not, in this instance, mean that it was beautiful.
Ford's fingers closed upon the bottle, and with reprehensible thoroughness he proceeded to drown what sorrows he then possessed.
Unfortunately he straightway produced a fresh supply, after his usual method.

In two hours he was flushed and argumentative.