“Av coorse. Why not? and raw oysters, too.”
“Well, you won’t blame me?”
“Is it blame? Not a bit of it. Niver fare.”
“O, well, I’ll scratch for you then.”
“Go ahead, thin.”
So Jiggins began, and scratched for some time.
“Here’s your first clam,” said he, throwing out one to Pat.
Pat opened it, and swallowed it with extraordinary celerity.
“Doesn’t that look as if I knowed how?” said he, biting off the black tip of the clam, and throwing it down. “Scratch them along, my boy.”
“All right; here’s another.”