“I say, my dear, have you got any bottled porter?” inquired Lawless.
“Yes, sir, and very good it is,” replied the smiling damsel.
“That's a blessing,” observed Coleman, piously.
“Bring us up a lot of it, my beauty,” resumed Lawless, “and some pewter pots—porter's twice as good out of its own native pewter.”
Thus exhorted, the blooming waitress tripped off, and soon returned with a basket containing six bottles of porter.
“That's the time of day,” said Lawless; “now for a corkscrew, pretty one; here you are, Oaklands.”
“I must own that is capital, after such hard work as we have been doing,” observed Oaklands, as he emptied the pewter pot at a draught.
“I say, Mary,” asked Coleman, “what's gone of that young man that used to keep company along with you—that nice young chap, that had such insinivatin ways with him?”
“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir; I've nothink to say to no young man whatsumever,” replied the damsel addressed, shaking her curls coquettishly.
“Ah!” sighed Coleman, “if I were but single now.”