Some tubs and barrels, in which the lees of cider were rapidly turning to vinegar, gave off a fruity, spirituous odor, but for awhile their eager search did not discover a bit of the distilled product.
At last, Kent, with a cry of triumph, dragged from a place of cunning concealment a small jug, stopped with a corncob.

He smelled it hungrily.
"Yes, here is some.

It's apple-jack, not a week old, and as rank as a Major General.

Phew! I can smell every stick they burned to distil it.
Abe, watch me closely while I drink.

I magnanimously take the lead, out of consideration for you.