Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West онлайн

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Then he looked around inquiringly, asking:

"Are there any gentlemen in the audience who are good judges of wine? If so, let them call for whatever they prefer."

"Sherry," called one.

Instantly Frank produced a brimming glass of sherry from the handkerchief and passed it to the one who had called for it.

"I think you will find that all right," he said, blandly, giving the handkerchief a flirt. "Next."

"Port," called another.

Barely was the word spoken when Frank took another brimming glass of wine from the handkerchief.

"Rare old port," he smiled, passing it to the one who had called. "How is that sherry, sir?"

"It is sherry all right," was the answer; "and good sherry, at that. Thank you."

"And this is port," said the other, smacking his lips.

"Some one else, please," called Frank, looking around.

"Claret," said a voice.

Out of the handkerchief Frank drew a glass of claret.

"Tokay."

As the word was spoken Merry flirted the handkerchief to show there was nothing in it, but the following instant he took out a glass of tokay and passed it to the one who had called.