“An’ here’s to your very good health, an’ long life to ye,” said Pat, as he swallowed it.
“Here’s another—and here—and here—and here, too—and here’s three.”
“Faith, thin, the more the merrier, and it’s meself that’s glad to see thim same,” said Pat, as he seized and opened them, one by one, and sent them flying after the others.
“How do you feel now?” asked Jiggins, after he had scratched for some time.
“Sure I feel better than iver; an’ why not?”
“All right. Here are some more. Go it, Pat.”
“Go it it is,” said Pat, seizing the clams with undiminished avidity, and devouring them.
“Here’s more, Pat. Don’t blame me if you see the ghost of your grandmother in your dreams tonight. And here’s more. Don’t blame me if you have the gripes, and have to stand on your head all night.”
“Niver you fare for me; but you go on wid yer scratching an’ let me ate in pace.”
The clams now came forth fast and furious. Muckle had found a place filled with them, and had heaped up his basket. Jiggins had a large pile on the sand, in front of which Pat had taken his station, and was vainly trying to keep up with Jiggins. But it was impossible, for Jiggins had found large numbers closely packed together.