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- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.725Z
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- text
- that it is with the best of hearts as with the best of pears--a
dangerous experiment to linger too long upon the scene. This did
Polonius. Thank fortune, Frank, I am young, every tooth sound in my
head, and if good wine can keep me where I am, long shall I remain so."
"True," with a smile. "But wine, to do good, must be drunk. You have
talked much and well, Charlie; but drunk little and indifferently--fill
up."
"Presently, presently," with a hasty and preoccupied air. "If I remember
right, Polonius hints as much as that one should, under no
circumstances, commit the indiscretion of aiding in a pecuniary way an
unfortunate friend. He drules out some stale stuff about 'loan losing
both itself and friend,' don't he? But our bottle; is it glued fast?
Keep it moving, my dear Frank. Good wine, and upon my soul I begin to
feel it, and through me old Polonius--yes, this wine, I fear, is what
excites me so against that detestable old dog without a tooth."
Upon this, the cosmopolitan, cigar in mouth, slowly raised the bottle,
and brought it slowly to the light, looking at it steadfastly, as one
might at a thermometer in August, to see not how low it was, but how
high. Then whiffing out a puff, set it down, and said: "Well, Charlie,
if what wine you have drunk came out of this bottle, in that case I
should say that if--supposing a case--that if one fellow had an object
in getting another fellow fuddled, and this fellow to be fuddled was of
your capacity, the operation would be comparatively inexpensive. What do
you think, Charlie?"
"Why, I think I don't much admire the supposition," said Charlie, with a
look of resentment; "it ain't safe, depend upon it, Frank, to venture
upon too jocose suppositions with one's friends."
"Why, bless you, Frank, my supposition wasn't personal, but general. You
mustn't be so touchy."
"If I am touchy it is the wine. Sometimes, when I freely drink, it has a
touchy effect on me, I have observed."
"Freely drink? you haven't drunk the perfect measure of one glass, yet.
While for me, this must be my fourth or fifth, thanks to your
importunity; not to speak of all I drank this morning, for old
acquaintance' sake. Drink, drink; you must drink."
"Oh, I drink while you are talking," laughed the other; "you have not
noticed it, but I have drunk my share. Have a queer way I learned from a
sedate old uncle, who used to tip off his glass-unperceived. Do you fill
up, and my glass, too. There! Now away with that stump, and have a new
cigar. Good fellowship forever!" again in the lyric mood, "Say, Frank,
are we not men? I say are we not human? Tell me, were they not human who
engendered us, as before heaven I believe they shall be whom we shall
engender? Fill up, up, up, my friend. Let the ruby tide aspire, and all
ruby aspirations with it! Up, fill up! Be we convivial. And
conviviality, what is it? The word, I mean; what expresses it? A living
together. But bats live together, and did you ever hear of convivial
bats?"
"If I ever did," observed the cosmopolitan, "it has quite slipped my
recollection."
"But _why_ did you never hear of convivial bats, nor anybody else?
Because bats, though they live together, live not together genially.
Bats are not genial souls. But men are; and how delightful to think that
the word which among men signifies the highest pitch of geniality,
implies, as indispensable auxiliary, the cheery benediction of the
bottle. Yes, Frank, to live together in the finest sense, we must drink
together. And so, what wonder that he who loves not wine, that sober
wretch has a lean heart--a heart like a wrung-out old bluing-bag, and
loves not his kind? Out upon him, to the rag-house with him, hang
him--the ungenial soul!"
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- Chunk 6