It was a deep
crimson colour. I tasted it somewhat nervously, for I felt they were all
watching me. It had the taste of the most exquisite fruit, and the
flavour--I am afraid you won't believe me--was that of the finest port
that I ever drank. 'How did you manage this, Arthur?' said Enderby.
'Grape-juice,' said Arthur. 'Those foreign black grapes are very cheap
just now, so I mixed some with the water that I was feeding the marrows
on.' I can't explain it to you; all I know is that I had a second
helping. I am afraid you don't believe it," said Freath uneasily.
We assured him that we did, but we did not say it with conviction.
"Enderby called round to see me a few days afterwards," continued
Freath, "and I walked back with him. As we went along he told me that a
relative was staying with them--an uncle. The first night, again they
had marrow for dinner. This time its flavour was not port but
whisky--Scotch whisky. The old gentleman was delighted with Arthur and
his experiments. Although an abstainer he had three helpings. This was
very pleasing to Enderby, as the uncle was a man of considerable wealth.
But he was not at all satisfied with his son's explanations, and he
thought he recognised the whisky.
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