“Is he mad?” said another.
“Tear and ages,” said Mr. Crow, getting quite impatient at the slowness of his friends’ perception,—“tear and ages, I’m one of yourselves.”
“One of us,” said the three in chorus,—“one of us?”
“Ay, to be sure,” here he took a long pull at the punch,—“to be sure I am; here’s ‘No surrender,’ your souls! whoop—” a loud yell accompanying the toast as he drank it.
“Do you mean to insult us?” said Father P———. “Guard, take the fellow.”
“Are we to be outraged in this manner?” chorussed the priests.
“‘July the 1st, in Oldbridge town,’” sang Billy, “and here it is, ‘The glorious, pious, and immortal memory of the great and good—‘”
“Guard! Where is the guard?”
“‘And good King William, that saved us from Popery—‘”
“Coachman! Guard!” screamed Father ———.