"It's getting on for a quarter to four, or thereabouts," said Mac Grab, consulting a huge silver watch of the turnip species.
"Then I must have been asleep here for some time," mused Frank aloud; and, glancing at the table, he added, "Oh! I remember—I was precious drunk last night——"
"Well, I'm blest if I didn't think you was," said Proggs, expressing his opinion with more bluntness than politeness. "You'll find a many lushing coven over in Spike Island."
"Spike Island?" ejaculated Frank: then, as a light broke in upon him through the mist and fumes of whiskey, he added, "Oh! I understand—the Bench, eh? Well—never say die, my boys; as my friend the Crown Prince of Holland used to observe. If it must be the Bench, it must: but you'll let me tell my wife what's happened."
"We won't let you rouse that Irisher, young gentleman," said Mac Grab. "Let us get you safe off, and then he may wake up, and be damned to him."
"I pledge you my word I will not attempt to rouse the Captain," exclaimed Curtis: "but I must speak to my wife."
"Well, that's only fair and reasonable," said Mac Grab; "although you don't deserve no good treatment at our hands, seeing how we was served by that owdacious Irish friend of yourn. Howsomever, you shall speak to your good lady; but mind, I ain't going to lose sight on you."
"You can come with me as far as the bed-chamber door," observed Frank; "and I shan't keep you many minutes."
"Proggs, you'll come along with me," said Mac Grab. "And now, mind, Mr. Curtis, what you're up to. We've got pistols with us; and blowed if we don't use 'em in self-defence if that Irish friend of your's happens to wake up and tries it on again with any of his nonsense."