"You mean you won't sell?" gasped Keawe.
"No, SIR!" cried the boatswain. "But I'll give you a drink of the rum, if you like."
"I tell you," said Keawe, "the man who has that bottle goes to hell."
"I reckon I'm going anyway," returned the sailor; "and this bottle's the best thing to go with I've struck yet. No, sir!" he cried again, "this is my bottle now, and you can go and fish for another."
"Can this be true?" Keawe cried. "For your own sake, I beseech you, sell it me!"
"I don't value any of your talk," replied the boatswain. "You thought I was a flat; now you see I'm not; and there's an end. If you won't have a swallow of the rum, I'll have one myself. Here's your health, and good-night to you!"
So off he went down the avenue towards town, and there goes the bottle out of the stor
