“An watch him?”
“Av coorse. But sure an he’s sleepin like a lamb; he’ll need no care or watchin.”
“An you think I railly may ventoor, jest to please the boys.”
“O, yis, av coorse; on’y don’t wait any longer.”
Captain Corbet drew a deep breath, as though to summon up all his fortitude for the ordeal before him.
“Wal,” he said, “I will. I’ll make the plunge. But be kerful; watch. An of he stirs, rock him; an ef he stirs more, rock him harder; but ef he stirs more, so as to be likely to wake, you must sing to him; an ef he actilly doos wake, then you’ll have to take him up and nuss him. Ef he still con-tennoos to wail,”—and here the captain’s voice faltered,—“you must walk up and down with him; ef he don’t stop then, sing and play with the furnitoor; and finally, ef nothin else’ll quiet him, thar’s his bowl an his bessed supper on the table, an you must feed him. But how can I bar to leave him, and trust all this to you—?”
“O, nonsense!” cried Pat; “sure an he won’t wake at all, at all; an if he does, I’ll do everythin that you say, an more by the same token.”
“You will?”
“Av coorse.”
“Then I think I may ventoor,” said Captain Corbet.