Finding the proper key, he put it into the door of the side-board.

"In this side-board, Dr.
Peewee, I keep a bottle of old Jamaica, which was sent me by a former correspondent in the West Indies." As Dr.Peewee had heard the same remark at least fifty times before, the kindly glistening of his nose must be attributed to some other cause than excitement at this intelligence.
"I like to preserve my friendly relations with my old commercial friends," continued Mr.Burt, speaking very pompously, and slowly pouring from a half-empty decanter into a tumbler.

"I rarely drink any thing myself--" "H'm, ha!" grunted the Doctor.
"-- except a glass of port at dinner.

Yet, not to be impolite, Doctor, not to be impolite, I could not refuse to drink to your very good health and safe return to the bosom of your family." And Mr.Burt drained the glass, quite unobservant of the fact that the Rev.Dr.Peewee was standing beside him without glass or old Jamaica.

In truth Mr.Burt had previously been alarmed about the effect of the bottle of port--which he metaphorically called a glass--that he had drunk at dinner, and to guard against evil results he had already, that very afternoon, as he was accustomed to say with an excellent humor, been to the West Indies for his health.
"Bless my soul, Doctor, you haven't filled your glass! Permit me." And the old gentleman poured into the one glass and then into the other.
"And now, Sir," he added, "now, Sir, let us drink to the health of Mr.
Gray, but not of the boys--ha! ha!" "No, no, not of the boys?
No, not of the boys.