It was impossible
not to say a word on such a subject at such a moment;--though our
rector was not a man who usually lauded his own viands. "I think
you will find that claret what you like, Mr. Gotobed," he said.
"It's a '57 Mouton, and judges say that it is good."
"Very good indeed," said the Senator. "In the States we haven't got
into the way yet of using dinner clarets." It was as good as a play
to see the rector wince under the ignominious word. "Your great
statesman added much to your national comfort when he took the duty
off the lighter kinds of French wines."
The rector could not stand it. He hated light wines. He hated cheap
things in general. And he hated Gladstone in particular. "Nothing,"
said he, "that the statesman you speak of ever did could make such
wine as that any cheaper. I am sorry, Sir, that you don't perceive
the difference."
"In the matter of wine," said the Senator, "I don't think that I
have happened to come across anything so good in this country as
our old Madeiras. But then, sir, we have been fortunate in our
climate. The English atmosphere is not one in which wine seems to
reach its full perfection." The rector heaved a deep sigh as he
looked up to the ceiling with his hands in his trowsers-pockets. He
knew, or thought that he knew, that no one could ever get a glass
of good wine in the United States.
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