"
"Well--I'm waiting to see what it is," Ford replied non-committally.
Dick opened the kitchen door, and led Ford through that into the
bunk-room. "You wait here--I'm afraid Mose might come back," he said,
and went into the kitchen. When he returned he had a gallon jug in his
hand. He was still smiling.
"I went to mix me up some soda-water for heartburn," he said, "and when
I picked up this jug, Mose took it out of my hand and said it was boiled
cider, that he'd got for mince-meat. So when he went out, I took a
taste. Here: You sample it yourself, Ford. If that's boiled cider, I
wouldn't mind having a barrel!"
Ford took the jug, pulled the cork, and sniffed at the opening. He did
not say anything, but he looked up at Dick significantly.
"Taste it once!" urged Dick innocently. "I'd just like to have you see
the brand of slow poison a fool like Mose will pour down him."
Ford hesitated, sniffed, started to set down the jug, then lifted it and
took a swallow.
"That isn't as bad as some I've seen," he pronounced evenly, shoving in
the cork. "Nor as good," he added conservatively. "I wonder where he got
it.
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