Then suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed immoderately.
"Never again--hell!" said he, "I'll drink when I want to! Whiskey hasn't anything on me! I can take it or leave it alone," saying which, he stepped over to where the bottle stood and took several swallows just to prove his assertion. Then, calling to his servant, he ordered two full quarts placed in his suit case, and to phone McGonigle's garage for his four seated roadster.
A half hour later he was steering his car amid the traffic of the Williamsburg bridge on his way to a little house in the heart of Patchogue, the home of Alexander Barbour, and his daughter--Winifred.
As far back as he could remember, Alexander Barbour had fished for the New York Market in the waters of Great South Bay--likewise his father and grandfather before him. A vast area of fishing ground stood just off Patchogue, then a tiny village, near which flounders were seined in enormous quantities. They were nearest in flavor and delicacy to the famous sole of English waters, and the great restaurants and hotels of the day vied with each other in devising new ways to serve them.
Alexander Barbour, with all of the vim and courage of youth, took the business when his father died and forthwith married the girl of his choice, whose personality and charm made of him a fond and loving husband. His greatest hope was that she might bear him a male child, that the line of succession in the Barbour family should go on through another generation. Unhappily for him the first born was a girl, and before a week had rolled around the mother died--and Barbour, the fisherman, drooped into a physical and mental decline.
Only a winsome baby girl was left to cheer his lonely heart. He strove hard to conceal his disappointment but the habit of brooding increased, for he had prayed for a son, but alas, his prayers had been denied.
Before her death Mrs. Barbour gave to her babe the name of Winifred, and, as the end drew near, a village parson performed a christening service in the presence of weeping neighbors who pledged loyalty to the mother's memory, and to the welfare of her little one, thus comforting the dying woman as she passed on to another world. From the shock of it all Alexander Barbour shrank into a pitiful state, having failed in his attempts at reinstating his prestige. Finally competitors controlling great storage warehouses and banking facilities drove him practically out of the field. The interest on his savings did not suffice to live upon the liberal basis of past years, and as Patchogue grew in population the name of Barbour receded from public concern.