That's his cha-cha-_rack_-ter,
Mr. Bunce; and it's all owing 'cause he won't drink!"
"Guess there's no sparing of reason in that bit of argument, now, I tell
you, Mr. Tongs. Bless my heart--it's no use talking, no how, but I'd a
been clean done up, dead as a door-nail, if it hadn't been for drink.
Strong drink makes strong. Many's the time, and the freezing cold, and
the hard travelling in bad roads, and other dreadful fixins I've seed,
would soon ha' settled me up, if it hadn't been for that same good stuff
there, that Master Brooks does look as if he was afeared on. Now, don't
be afeared, Master Brooks. There's no teeth in whiskey, and it never
bites nobody."
"No," said Brooks, with the utmost simplicity; "only when they take too
much."
"How?" said the pedler, looking as if the sentence contained some
mysterious meaning. Brooks might have explained, but for Tongs, who
dashed in after this fashion:--
"And who takes too much? You don't mean to say I takes too much, Ben
Brooks.
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