"Oh, indade!" said Mike. "Thim fellers is aither too short in the neck to take more, or they have saycrets to whisper."
Some of the men near the door had gone out, and now the door swung open again, and one shouted: "Shake a leg, push of the S.S. Glory! Crew of the S.S. Glory, shake a leg!"
"What's the time?" said Scholar, astonished. "It can't be late yet. This place is still open."
"'E thinks 'e's in England," said Cockney, but joyful, not malevolent. "The first thing yer notice in this 'ere country is them bills—'Open day hand night'—and the next thing is the size of them glasses. They look long at first, but you get used to everythink. I could do wiv 'em longer." He drained his glass. "Longer fer me! Longer fer me!" he began to sing, making for the door. Evidently the strains of a Salvation Army song outside had come to his ears through the voices and clatter of the place, for as the doors swung now with the men tumbling out, Scholar heard the beat of a drum and voices singing: "That will be glory, glory for me!" Cockney danced along the street, his wide trousers flapping about his lean shanks, laughing and singing: "Longer fer me! Longer fer me!"
"Come on, Mike!" shouted the last of them.
"Tell them to cast off if I don't come!" he replied. "I've met ould friends—and I'm drinkin'."
"Come along, Mike," Michael hailed.
"Come along, Mike," implored Scholar. There was something like pity in his eye for the great empty-stomached man. They were all empty-stomached—that is so far as to food; and that beer had drugged and stupefied them.
"To hell wid yez all!" cried Mike; and then through the haze in his eyes he peered along the saloon at Scholar. "Stay wid me, Scholar, stay wid me. Let the other fellows go."
"I want to cross over," said Scholar.