'Well, I must say this sherry is a really prime article,' said Huish. ''Ow much does it stand you in, if it's a fair question?'
'A hundred and twelve shillings in London, and the freight to Valparaiso, and on again,' said Attwater. 'It strikes one as really not a bad fluid.'
'A 'undred and twelve!' murmured the clerk, relishing the wine and the figures in a common ecstasy: 'O my!'
'So glad you like it,' said Attwater. 'Help yourself, Mr Whish, and keep the bottle by you.'
'My friend's name is Huish and not Whish, sit,' said the captain with a flush.
'I beg your pardon, I am sure. Huish and not Whish, certainly,' said Attwater. 'I was about to say that I have still eight dozen,' he added, fixing the captain with his eye.
'Eight dozen what?' said Davis.
'Sherry,' was the reply. 'Eight dozen excellent sherry. Why, it seems almost worth it in itself; to a man fond of wine.'
The ambiguous words struck home to guilty consciences, and Huish and the captain sat up in their places and regarded him with a scare.
'Worth what?' said Davis.
