There was--probably still is--a coffee-tavern in Gorleston where, in a
cleanly, cheerful room, a retired fisherman and his wife, of temperance
principles, supplied people with those hot liquids which are said to
cheer without inebriating.
Here, by appointment, two friends met to discuss matters of grave
importance. One was Bob Lumsden, the other his friend and admirer Pat
Stiver. Having asked for and obtained two large cups of coffee and two
slices of buttered bread for some ridiculously small sum of money, they
retired to the most distant corner of the room, and, turning their backs
on the counter, began their discussion in low tones.
Being early in the day, the room had no occupants but themselves and the
fisherman's wife, who busied herself in cleaning and arranging plates,
cups, and saucers, etcetera, for expected visitors.
"Pat," said Bob, sipping his coffee with an appreciative air, "I've
turned a total abstainer."
"W'ich means?" inquired Pat.
"That I don't drink nothin' at all," replied Bob.
"But you're a-drinkin' now!" said Pat.
"You know what I mean, you small willain; I drink nothin' with spirits
in it."
"Well, I don't see what you gains by that, Bob, for I heerd Fred Martin
say you was nat'rally `full o' spirit,' so abstainin' 'll make no
difference."
"Pat," said Bob sternly, "if you don't clap a stopper on your tongue,
I'll wollop you."
Pat became grave at once. "Well, d'ee know, Bob," he said, with an
earnest look, "I do b'lieve you are right. You've always seemed to me
as if you had a sort o' dissipated look, an' would go to the bad right
off if you gave way to drink. Yes, you're right, an' to prove my regard
for you I'll become a total abstainer too--but, nevertheless, I _can't_
leave off drinkin'."
"Can't leave off drinkin'!" echoed Bob.