Now, I’d never tasted cognac straight except down there at St. Nazaire, when I did succeed in downing a few glasses of it, so it wasn’t any wonder to me that I choked and coughed and sputtered when that red hot bolt of liquid lightning hit my throat.... Ben socked me on the back so hard that I sprawled right across the table—but it did cure the choking, because it knocked the wind completely out of me. Clark put his arm around me, dried my eyes with his handkerchief and caressed me until I regained my breath. Ben looked on in dumb wonder and finally exclaimed. “That’s a fine way fer an officer to be treatin’ an inferior!... Why don’t ya give her yer smellin salts?” “You big dumb-bell!” Clark told him. “You knocked the wind out of him!... And no more of your wise cracks.” But Ben was beginning to feel unconquerable. “You two soul-mates!” he bawled at us. “’Sgood thing yer in those women’s dud er somebody’d think the both of ya’re queer!” “Shut up and have another drink,” suggested Clark. “Will ya join me, Leony?” he asked. “No, thanks—I can’t stand that stuff.” He turned around and called to the waiter. “Garçon! A bottle of that pink water ya got on the shelf up there!” And when the garçon did not at once obey, he arose majestically, muttering, “Slowest damn butler we ever had!... I’ll get ya a bottle o’ somethin ya can drink, Leony!... You ain’t got hair ’nough on yer chest yet to drink cognac!” I looked quickly at the Captain: the devil was actually laughing at that crack! But he straightened up to say, “If we don’t ditch him pretty soon, we may as well kiss our honeymoon good-by, chère.” When Ben returned with the bottle of wine, we renewed the attack with a vengeance. I drank several glasses of wine to get him to drink a dozen of other things. Clark had to drink with him half the time, and I could see his eyes getting drowsy. I felt rather sleepy myself, and miserable. Clark began to get hilarious—and looked too comical for words in that woman’s raiment. Suddenly he said, “Benny, I’ll wager you can’t down a bottle of rum and a bottle of wine in quick succession without stopping!” “The hell I can’t!” retorted Ben. “What’s bet?” “Twenty francs and the charges.” “You must be drunk, Captain,” opined Ben. “But I always say, ‘Never turn down a bargain’ and ‘Never count a gift horse’s teeth.’ ... Ya’re on!... Garçon! Garçon! Vit! A bottle o’ that Jamaica Niggerhead and another one o’ that pink ink!... Vit!” As soon as the bottles appeared, the Captain laid twenty francs on the table and told the garçon to wait a moment. Ben ups with the rum and drains the bottle, grabs the wine with the other hand and drinks the whole quart as a chaser, while the garçon stared at him with a sickly grin. “B-a-a-a-a-a-a-a” bellows Ben, smacking his lips so loudly that people all over the place turned to look at us.