"Nary a bite!" he answered, shaking his head. "But here's rum now if you've a mind to sluice the ivories—ha?"
"Not a drop!" says I.
"Good! The more for me!" he nodded. "Rum—ha—
"Some swam in rum to kingdom come"—
"You sing a mighty strange song!" quoth I.
"Ha—d'ye like it?"
"No, I don't!"
"And wherefore no?"
"There seems overmuch death in it."
"Death?" cries he with a great laugh and hugging his case-bottle. "Death says you—aye, aye, says I and so there is, death in every line on't. 'Tis song as was made for dead men, of dead men, by a dead man, and there's for ye now!" Here he lifted the bottle, drank, and thereafter smacked his lips with great gusto. "Made by a dead man," he repeated, "for dead men, of dead men, and there's for ye!"