"They had me down to take my likeness," cried Frank; "or else I dare say I should have slept on till now."
"Well—we'll just make the round of the Binch, me boy," exclaimed the captain; "and by that time the breakfast will be ready. I've orthered it—hot rolls and coffee, with kidneys, eggs, cresses, and such like thrifles; and a walk will give us an appetite."
Curtis accordingly took his friend's arm; and they set out on their limited ramble.
"That building on your right, Frank," said the captain, "is the State House, where Government prisoners and such like spalpeens are kept—or ought to be; but the prisoners for debt get hould of the rooms there, and the divil himself can't turn 'em out. But here's the Tap: and this is the first lion of the Binch."
They entered a low and dirty-looking place, in which there were several common tables of the roughest description, and the surfaces of which were completely carved out into names, initial letters, men hanging, and a variety of devices—these ingenious and very elaborate specimens of wood-engraving having been effected by penknives. A tremendous fire burnt in the grate, round which were assembled several of the poorer class of prisoners and the messengers, eating their breakfast;—and, at one of the tables just alluded to, the newsman was sorting his papers.
As the captain and Curtis were retracing their way from an inspection of the interior of the tap-room, the former stopped at the bar, exclaiming to the man in attendance, "Two half pints, Misther Vernon—and good mornin' to ye."
"You would not drink malt liquor so early, will you?" asked Frank, with a look of astonishment at his companion.
"Be Jasus! and it's for you to taste the porther, me boy!" exclaimed the captain. "Don't you remimber all I said yesterday in its praise? Come—dhrink!"
And Mr. Curtis was accordingly compelled to swallow half a pint of porter, though malt liquor before breakfast was somewhat repugnant to his taste. The beer was veritably of first-rate quality; and the captain was as proud to hear the young gentleman's eulogy on its merits, as if he had brewed it himself.
"Now let us continue our ramble," said he;—and away they went, arm-in-arm, the two or three poor prisoners who were lounging at the door of the Tap respectfully making room for them to pass.