THE TONIC PORT
WE do a large export trade (that is, the firm does), and there are often samples lying about in the office. There was a bottle of Tarret's Tonic Port, which had been there some time, and one of the partners told the head clerk that he could have it if he liked. Later in the day the head clerk said if a bottle of Tarret's Tonic Port was any use to me I might take it home. He said he had just opened it and tasted it, because he did not like to give anything away until he knew if it was all right.
I thanked him. "Tastes," I said, "just like any ordinary port, I suppose?"
"Well," he said, "it's more a tonic port than an ordinary port. But that's only what you'd expect from the label."
"Quite so," I said—"quite so." I looked at the label, and saw that it said that the port was peculiarly rich in phosphates. I put the bottle in my bag that night and took it home.
"Eliza," I said, "I have brought you a little present. It is a bottle of port." Eliza very rarely takes anything at all, but if she does it is a glass of port. In this respect I admire her taste. Port, as I have sometimes said to her, is the king of wines. We decided that we would have a glass after supper. That is really the best time to take anything of the kind; the wine soothes the nerves and prevents insomnia.
Eliza picked the bottle up and looked at the label. "Why," she said, "you told me it was port!"
"So it is."
"It says tonic port on the label."
"Well, tonic port practically is port. That is to say, it is port with the addition of—er—phosphates."
"What are phosphates?"
"Oh, there are so many of them, you know. There is quinine, of course, and magnesium, and—and so on. Let me fill your glass."
She took one very little sip. "It isn't what I should call a pleasant wine," she said. "It stings so."
"Ah!" I said, "that's the phosphates. It would be a little like that. But that's not the way to judge a port. What you should do is to take a large mouthful and roll it round the tongue,—then you get the aroma. Look: this is the way."
I took a large mouthful.
When I had stopped coughing I said that I didn't know that there was anything absolutely wrong with the wine, but you wanted to be ready for it. It had come on me rather unexpectedly.
Eliza said that very likely that was it, and she asked me if I would care to finish my glass now that I knew what it was like.
I said that it was not quite a fair test to try a port just after it had been shaken about. I would let the bottle stand for a day or two. Ultimately I took what was left in Eliza's glass and my own, and emptied it into the garden. I did this because I did not want our general servant to try it when she cleared away, and possibly acquire a taste for drink.
Next morning I found that two of our best geraniums had died during the night. I said that it was most inexplicable. Eliza said nothing.
A few nights afterward, Eliza asked me if I thought that the tonic port had stood long enough.
"Yes," I said; "I will decant it for you, and then if Miss Sakers calls you might say carelessly that you were just going to have a glass of port, and would be glad if she would join you."
"No, thank you," she said; "I don't want to deceive Miss Sakers."
"You could mention that it was rich in phosphates. There need be no deception about it."
"Well, then, I don't want to lose the few friends we've got."
"As you please, Eliza. It seems a pity to waste more than half a bottle of good wine."
"Bottle of what?"
"You heard what I said."
"Well, drink it yourself, if you like it."
Some weeks afterward I found the bottle of Tarret's Tonic Port still standing in the sideboard. I gave it to our servant, explaining to her that it would be best mixed with water. There was still the risk of her acquiring drinking habits, but I could think of no one else to give it to. That night Eliza found the girl crying in the kitchen. When Eliza asked what was the matter, she said that she would rather say nothing, but that she was wishful to leave at the end of her month.
Of course Eliza blamed me, but I had told the girl as distinctly as I could speak that it was a wine which required dilution. However, Eliza persuaded her to stay on. The girl took the pledge on the following day, and seemed changed in many ways. She put the bottle back in the sideboard; there was still more than half of it left.
After that nothing happened with reference to the tonic port, until one day I noticed that our cat (who had recently lost her kittens) seemed in a poor state of health. I gave it a few spoonfuls of the tonic port in a little milk. It drank it with avidity, somewhat to my surprise. I had one or two little things to do in the garden after that, and when I came back Eliza said that the cat had become so very strange in its manner that she had thought it best to lock it in the coal-cellar.
I went to look at it, and found it lying on its back, dead. It had a singularly happy expression on its face. Both Eliza and myself were very sorry to lose it.
I judged it best to say nothing about the 
"It had a singularly happy
expression on its face."
I told the head clerk about it, but he only laughed in the silliest way. He is a most ill-bred man, in my opinion.