In driving them over a watering-trough one night an
accident of some sort happened. Angus didn't come to till after his leg
was set and the stitches in--eight in one place, six in another, and so
on; I wonder why they're always so careful to count the stitches in a
person that way--and he wished to know if his new side-bar buggy was
safe and they told him it wasn't, and he wanted to know where his team
was, but nobody knew that for three days, so he says to the doctors and
Ellabelle: 'Hereafter I suspect I shall take only soft drinks like beer
and sherry. Champagne has a bonnier look but it's too enterprising. I
might get into trouble some time.' And he's done so to this day. Oh,
I've seen him take a sip or two of champagne to some one's health, or
as much Scotch whiskey in a tumbler of water as you could dribble from a
medium-boilered fountain pen. But that's a high riot with him. He'll eat
one of these corned peaches in brandy, and mebbe take a cream pitcher of
beer on his oatmeal of a morning when his stomach don't feel just right,
but he's never been a willing performer since that experiment in
hurdling.
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