Arthur m. Jensen endorsed by the following professors of English

label
[ˈleɪbəl]
was extremely rich in phosphates. I put the bottle in my bag that night and took it home.
“Eliza,” I said, “I have brought you a little present. It is a bottle of port.” Eliza very seldom takes anything at all, but if she does, it is a glass of port. I must say that, on this point, I admire her taste. On this Port, as I have sometimes said to her, is the king of point = in wines. We decided that we would have a glass after this matter supper. That is really the best time to take anything of the kind; the wine is good for the nerves, and you do not suffer from sleeplessness afterwards.
Eliza picked the bottle up and looked at the label. “Why,” she said, “you told me it was Port!”
Why! = “So it is.”
what! “It says tonic port on the label.”
“Well, tonic port practically speaking is port. That is to say it is port with the addition of phosphates.”
“What are phosphates?”
“Oh, there are many of them, you know. There is quinine, of course, and magnesia, and – and so on. Let me fill your glass.”
THE TONIC PORT
She took one little sip. “It isn't what I should call a pleasant wine,” she said. “It burns so.”
“Ah!” I said, “that's the phosphates. They are a little like that. But that's not the way to judge a port. What you should do is to take a large mouthful and roll it round the tongue - then you get the aroma. Look! this is the way.” I took a large mouthful.
When I had stopped coughing, I said that I didn't know that there was anything absolutely wrong with the wine, but you needed to be ready for it.
Eliza said that was probably the case, and she asked me if I would care to finish my glass now that I knew what it was like. I said that it was not quite fair to try a port just after it had been shaken about. I would let the bottle stand for a day or – two. Then I took what was left in Eliza's glass and my own, and emptied it into the garden. I did this because I did not want our servant to try it when she put the things away.
Next morning I found that two of our best
plants had died during the night. I said that I could not understand it. Eliza said nothing.
A few nights afterwards, Eliza asked me if I thought that the tonic port had stood long enough.
“Yes,” I said; "I will pour it out for you, and then if Miss Sakers calls, you might say that you were just going to have a glass of port, and would be glad if she would join you.”
“No, thank you,” she said; “I don't want to treat
Miss Sakers like that.”
“You could mention that it was rich in phosphates. There is no question of treating her badly."
“Well, then, I don't want to lose the few friends we've got.”
“As you like, Eliza. It seems a shame to waste more than half a bottle of good wine.”
“Bottle of what?”
“You heard what I said."
"Well, drink it yourself, if you like it."
Some weeks afterwards I found the bottle
THE TONIC PORT

of tonic port still standing in the sideboard in the dining-room. I gave it to our servant, explaining to her that it would be best mixed with water. I could

think of no one else to give it to. That night Eliza Sideboard found the girl crying in the kitchen. When Eliza [saɪdbɔːrd]

asked her what was the matter, she said that she would rather say nothing, but that she wished to leave at the end of the month. Of course, Eliza said that I had been wrong, but I had told the girl as distinctly as I could speak that it was a wine which required mixing with water. However, Eliza talked to her and she agreed to stay on. The following day the girl decided never to touch drink again, and seemed changed in many ways. She put the bottle back in the sideboard; there was still more than half of it left. After that nothing happened in connection with the tonic port, until one day I noticed that our cat seemed to be in poor health. I gave it some of the tonic port in a little milk. It drank the mixture quickly, somewhat to my surprise. I had one or two little things to do

Drink = strong drink

in the garden after that, and when I came back Eliza said that the cat had become so very strange in its manner that she had thought it best to lock it up in the coal-cellar.
I went to look at it, and found it lying on its back, dead. It had an extremely happy expression on its face. Both Eliza and myself were very sorry to lose it.
I judged it best to say nothing about the port. But the bottle had gone from the sideboard. Eliza said that she had taken it away to prevent further accidents.
I told the head clerk about it, but he only laughed in a foolish way. He is a man of bad taste, in my opinion.