“The d—d—devil you haven’t,” said the waterman.
“Not a drain; but if you will walk with me till we come to some really good hostel, I will make you the partaker of the value of a couple of gold pieces melted down into humming ale, spiced canary, sack, or choice Rhenish—ay? What you will you shall have, if you will how take my arm, and let me be your guide.”
“You—you are the prince of good fellows,” cried Sheldon, “d—d—damme you are—humming ale, did you say?”
“Certainly, such as will be music in your ears.”
“And—and spiced canary?”
“Even, so; deep draughts that will shut the world from your eyes and your thoughts.”
“Sack—s—sack, and Rhenish too?”
“All—all. You shall steep your senses in delight; drown your soul in a delirium of pleasure. Come on—come on, good Master Sheldon—do you not see the morning is breaking?”
“D—d—d—n it, let it break. I mean to say that you are my best friend. Bless you—I ain’t a-going to cry—no—no.”
“Come—come, say no more—say no more.”