“No wonder, when the Mikado sent a Japanese envoy to America to make a tentative examination of Christianity as a proper creed for the state religion of Japan—­no wonder, with this miracle flouted by the prohibitionists, the embassy carried back the report that Americans really have no faith in the religion they profess.  Shameful!  Shameful!  Place the glass there on the left of the bottle.  A little farther away from the bottle, please, just a trifle more.  Thank you.”

The Captain poured himself a tiny glassful, and its bouquet immediately filled the room.  There was no guessing how old that whisky was.

“I will not break the laws of my country, Peter, no matter how godless and sacrilegious those laws may be; therefore I cannot offer you a drink, but you will observe a second glass among the religious works, and the bottle sits in plain view on the table—­er—­em.”  He watched Peter avail himself of his opportunity, and then added, “Now, you may just drink to me, standing, as you are, like that.”

They drank, Peter standing, the old gentleman seated.

“It is just as necessary,” pursued the old connoisseur, when Peter was reseated, “it is just as necessary for a gentleman to have a delicate palate for the tints of the vine as it is for him to have a delicate eye for the tints of the palette.  Nature bestowed a taste both in art and wine on man, which he should strive to improve at every opportunity.  It is a gift from God.  Perhaps you would like another glass.  No?  Then accommodate me.”

He drained this one, with Peter standing, worked his withered lips back and forth to experience its full taste, then swallowed, and smacked.

“Now, Peter,” he said, “the reason I asked you to come to see me is that I need a man about this house.  That will be one phase of your work.  The more important part is that you shall serve as a sort of secretary.  I have here a manuscript.”  He patted the pile of papers.  “My handwriting is rather difficult.  I want you to copy this matter out and get it ready for the printer.”

Peter became more and more astonished.

“Are you offering me a permanent place, Captain Renfrew?” he asked.

The old man nodded.

“I need a man with a certain liberality of culture.  I will no doubt have you run through books and periodicals and make note of any points germane to my thesis.”

Peter looked at the pile of script on the table.

“That is very flattering, Captain; but the fact is, I came by your place at this hour because I am just in the act of leaving here on the steamboat to-night.”

The Captain looked at Peter with concern on his face.  “Leaving Hooker’s Bend?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

Peter hesitated.

“Well, my mother is dead—­”

“Yes, but your—­your—­your work is still here, Peter.”  The Captain fell into a certain confusion.  “A man’s work, Peter; a man’s work.”