His breath, loaded with the fumes of a recent glass of whisky, was filling the clergyman’s nostrils.  Mr. Elliott was confounded by this denial.  What was to be done with such a man?

“Not a drop, sir,” repeated Mr. Ridley.  “The vile stuff is killing me.  I must give it up.”

“It is your only hope,” said the clergyman.  “You must give up the vile stuff, as you call it, or it will indeed kill you.”

“That’s just why I’ve come to you, Mr. Elliott.  You understand this matter better than most people.  I’ve heard you talk.”

“Heard me talk?”

“Yes, sir.  It’s pure wine that the people want.  My sentiments exactly.  If we had pure wine, we’d have no drunkenness.  You know that as well as I do.  I’ve heard you talk, Mr. Elliott, and you talk right—­yes, right, sir.”

“When did you hear me talk?” asked Mr. Elliott, who was beginning to feel worried.

Oh, at a party last winter.  I was there and heard you.”

“What did I say?”

“Just these words, and they took right hold of me.  You said that ’pure wine could hurt no one, unless indeed his appetite were vitiated by the use of alcohol, and even then you believed that the moderate use of strictly pure wine would restore the normal taste and free a man from the tyranny of an enslaving vice.’  That set me to thinking.  It sounded just right.  And then you were a clergyman, you see, and had studied out these things and so your opinion was worth something.  There’s no reason in your cold-water men; they don’t believe in anything but their patent cut-off.  In their eyes wine is an abomination, the mother of all evil, though the Bible doesn’t say so, Mr. Elliott, does it?”

At this reference to the Bible in connection with wine, the clergyman’s memory supplied a few passages that were not at the moment pleasant to recall.  Such as, “Wine is a mocker;” “Look not upon the wine when it is red;” “Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? ...  They that tarry long at the wine;” “At last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.”

“The Bible speaks often of the misuse of wine,” he answered, “and strongly condemns drunkenness.”

“Of course it does, and gluttony as well.  But against the moderate use of good wine not a word is said.  Isn’t that so, sir?”

“Six months ago you were a sober man, Mr. Ridley, and a useful and eminent citizen.  Why did you not remain so?”

Mr. Elliott almost held his breath for the answer.  He had waived the discussion into which his visitor was drifting, and put his question almost desperately.

“Because your remedy failed.”  Mr. Ridley spoke in a repressed voice, but with a deliberate utterance.  There was a glitter in his eyes, out of which looked an evil triumph.

“My remedy?  What remedy?”

“The good wine remedy.  I tried it at Mr. Birtwell’s one night last winter.  But it didn’t work. And here I am!”