“Fiddle a little,” hiccuped the Dominie.
“And foot it a little—”
“Foot it a little,” repeated Tom.
“And swig the flowing can,
And fiddle a little,
And foot it a little,
And swig the flowing can—”
roared old Tom, emptying his pannikin.
“And swig the flowing can—”
followed the Dominie, tossing off his.
“And swig the flowing can—”
cried young Tom turning up his pannikin empty.
“Hurrah! that’s what I calls glorious. Let’s have it over again, and then we’ll have another dose. Come, now, all together.” Again was the song repeated; and when they came to “foot it a little,” old Tom jumped on his stumps, seizing hold of the Dominie, who immediately rose, and the three danced round and round for a minute or two, singing the song and chorus, till old Tom, who was very far gone, tripped against the coamings of the hatchway, pitching his head into the Dominie’s stomach, who fell backwards, clinging to young Tom’s hand; so that they all rolled on the deck together—my worthy preceptor underneath the other two.