Paggy: No; he’s not a genelum; never fight with a feller’s not a genelum; never fight with a genelum’s not (singing) “A captain in the how-d’ye-do brigade. How de do? How de do? I’m a captain in the how-d’ye-do brigade.”
Here Huskisson, who had not yet recognised Sard, but was terrified of arrest for disorder, interrupted:
“Look here, you fellows, don’t make this row; we’ll have the civil guards on us in a minute.”
Crockums: Make this row?
Paggy: Who’s making any row?
Crockums: We’re not making any row, you young pup; go and lap milk in a tea-joint.
Paggy: He talks like my female aunt.
Crockums: I’ve torn a man’s trousers off for less; dammy, the sea’s that refined nowadays it’s chronic.
Here the waiter appeared with the three little tin cups of Santa Barbara claret.
Crockums: He shan’t have any vinos now, because he told us not to make this row.