We know how to make it. You can't get an idea
how delicious it is. In big crocks"--the Count said simply--"well, that's
for you boys." We protested that he was too kind. "Nothing of the sort,"
he said, with a delicate smile. "I have a son in the English Army," and
his face clouded with worry, "and we send him some now and then, he's
crazy about it. I know what it means to him. And you shall share in it
too. I'll send you six crocks." Then, suddenly looking at us with a
pleasant expression, "By Jove!" the Count said, "do you like whiskey?
Real Bourbon whiskey? I see by your look that you know what it is. But
you never tasted anything like this. Do you know London?" I said no, as I
had said once before. "Well, that's a pity," he said, "for if you did
you'd know this bar. I know the barkeeper well, known him for thirty
years. There's a picture of mine hanging in his place. Look at it when
you're in London, drop in to ---- Street, you'll find the place, anyone
will tell you where it is. This fellow would do anything for me. And now
I'll tell you what I'll do: you fellows give me whatever you want to
spend and I'll get you the best whiskey you ever tasted. It's his own
private stock, you understand. I'll send it on to you--God knows you need
it in this place.
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