Rye?
no, thet's Bourbon--the reel corn juice--ten years in wood--" "Mixed across the street at the drug store--ha! ha! ha!" interrupted some one.
"Don't be faceshus, Sam; this ain't no sody-fountin." "Where'd that feller cum frum with his steam pianer,--Syr'cuse ?" "Naw! Chicago." "Great cranberries! you don't say so,--all the way from Chicago! When did he start ?" "Day 'fore yesterday," replied the old man, and we could hear him putting back the bottles; a chorus of voices,-- "What!" "Holy Mo--" "Day afore yester--say, look here, you're jokin'." "Mebbe I am, but if you don't believe it, ask him." "Why Chicago is further'n Buf'lo--an' that's faster'n a train." "Yes," drawled the old man; "he passed the Empire Express th' other side Syr'cuse." "Get out." "What do you take us fer ?" "Wall, when you cum in, I took you fer fellers who knowed the diff'rence betwixt whiskey and benzine, but I see my mistake.

You fellers shud buy your alc'hol across the way at the drug store; it don't cost s' much, and burns better." "Thet's one on us.

Your whiskey is all right, grandpa, the reel corn juice--ten year in wood--too long in bottl'spile if left over night, so pull the stopper once more.".