“Here, I say,” said Sim to Mr Barker, “I shall lose all that speech ’fore I begin, if I have to wait much longer.”
“I’ll prompt you,” said Barker.
“Eh?” said Sim.
“I’ll prompt you—help you.”
“Oh, all right; thankey. Kiver up them motters till the door’s shoot close,” he continued aloud; but as the door was on the point of being closed, Sim’s order was not obeyed; and the ale and tobacco being handed to those who demanded them, Sim once more rose to begin, but only for a fresh clamour to arise from another party, whose “moogs” were empty, and while these were being filled, the swords were covered with a coat, and the mottoes turned to the wall.
At length all were satisfied, and Sim Slee rose for the speech of the evening.
“Brother workmen, mates, paytriots, and fellow sitterzens o’ Doomford—”
“He—ar, he—ar!”
“We are met here to-night, honoured by the presence o’ Brother Silas Barker.”
“He—ar, he—ar,” and a “hooray.”