““I know wot it is,’ said Mrs. Kemp, shaking her head; ‘the fact is, you ain’t used ter drinkin’, an’ of course it’s upset yer. Now me, why I’m as fresh as a disy. Tike my word, there ain’t no good in teetotalism; it finds yer aht in the end, an’ it’s found you aht.’ Mrs. Kemp considered it a judgment of Providence. She got up and mixed some whisky and water. ‘‘Ere, drink this,’ she said. ‘When one’s ‘ad a drop too much at night, there’s nothin’ like havin’ a drop more in the mornin’ ter put one right. It just acts like magic.’ ‘Tike it awy,’ said Liza, turning from it in disgust; ‘the smell of it gives me the sick. I’ll never touch spirits again.””
