“No—because, that be Jacob’s nature; so you see one nature conquered the other, and that’s the whole long and short of it.”
“Well, now, suppose we sit down and make ourselves comfortable,” observed Stapleton; “but here be somebody else coming up—who can it be?”
“I say, old codger, considering you be as deaf as a post, you hears pretty well,” said old Tom.
“Yes, I hear very well in the house, provided people don’t speak loud.”
“Well, that’s a queer sort of deafness; I think we are all troubled with the same complaint,” cried Tom, laughing.
During this remark, the Dominie made his appearance. “Salve Domine,” said I upon his entering, taking my worthy pedagogue by the hand.
“Et tu quoque, fili mi, Jacobe! But whom have we here? the deaf man, the maiden, and—ehu!—the old man called old Tom, and likewise the young Tom;” and the Dominie looked very grave.
“Nay, sir,” said young Tom, going up to the Dominie; “I know you are angry with us, because we both drank too much when we were last in your company; but we promise—don’t we father?—not to do so again.”
This judicious reply of young Tom’s put the Dominie more at his ease; what he most feared was raillery and exposure on their parts.
“Very true, old gentleman; Tom and I did bowse our jibs up a little too taut when we last met—but what then?—there was the grog, and there was nothing to do.”