“Why, let’s have a glass of grog first, Cockle,” replied I, “we’ve been waiting a long while for it, and we’ll then talk the matter over.”
“Bob, you’re sensible, and the old woman was no fool in sending the liquor—it requires Dutch courage to attack such a Dutch-built old schuyt; let’s get the cobwebs out of our throats, and then we must see how we can get out of this scrape. I expect that I shall pay ‘dearly for my whistle’ this time I wet mine. Now, what’s to be done, Bob?”
“I think that you had better leave it to Moonshine,” said I.
“So I will.—Now, sir, as you have got me into this scrape, you must get me out of it.—D’ye hear?”
“Yes, Massa Cockle, I tink—but no ab courage.”
“I understand you, you sooty fellow—here, drink this, and see if it will brighten up your wits. He’s a regular turnpike, that fellow, every thing must pay toll.”
“Massa Cockle, I tell Missy O’Bottom dat you come soon as you hab two glass grog; ’pose you only drink one.”
“That won’t do, Moonshine, for I’m just mixing my second; you must find out something better.”
“One glass grog, massa, gib no more dan one tought—dat you ab—”
“Well, then, here’s another.—Now recollect, before you drink it, you are to get me out of this scrape; if not, you get into a scrape, for I’ll beat you as—as white as snow.”