Ned. It came from Steve Foster’s. You ought to know the taste of every thing in his place.
Phil. But this is horrible.
Ned. No matter, down with it! “Beggars shouldn’t be choosers,” you know.
Phil. Here goes (drinks, and hands the demijohn to Ned). I’ve given my stomach a surprise-party, I guess.
Ned. Ah! “this is the nectar that Jupiter sips” (drinks, and spits out). Phew! concentrated essence of all that is horrible! What stuff!
Phil. Here comes the Yankee.
Ned. Then here goes! (Drinks, and then Phil and Ned separate and get in R. and L. corners of the stage, leaving the demijohn in the centre. Enter Zeke, L. dragging Chick.)
Zeke. There, you little specimen of ball-blacking, try and keep out of the water! What sent you there?
Chick. Donno, Massa: spec it was a conwulsion.