"It's the genuine stuff, Penn, too!" he declared.
Pennington smiled.
"Thanks, old fellow, but I've quit," he said.
"Quit!" exclaimed Evans.
"Yep."
"But think of it, man—aged eight years in the wood, and bottled in bond before July 1, 1919. The real thing, and as cheap as moonshine—only six beans a quart. Can you believe it?"
"I cannot," admitted Pennington. "Your conversation listens phony."
"But it's the truth. You may have quit, but one little snifter of this won't hurt you. Here's this bottle already open—just try it"; and he proffered the bottle and a glass to the other.
"Well, it's pretty hard to resist anything that sounds as good as this does," remarked Pennington. "I guess one won't hurt me any." He poured himself a drink and took it. "Wonderful!" he ejaculated.
"Here," said Evans, diving into the closet once more. "I got you a bottle, too, and we can get more."
Pennington took the bottle and examined it, almost caressingly.
"Eight years in the wood!" he murmured. "I've got to take it, Guy. Must have something to hand down to posterity." He drew a bill fold from his pocket and counted out six dollars.
"Thanks," said Guy. "You'll never regret it."
