'Shut down the window,' cried Dave. 'Enough to give a fellow the megrims, listening to that racket.'
'Too hot, Dave,' said the Factor. 'Here, we'll have a round of poker. Wait till I get out the cards.'
Plang!
'Goldam! queer that a dirty bit of metal should put three men in the suds. Cheer up, Captain; you're a chicken yet.'
He threw the cards across the table, then brandished a bottle round his head.
'When round the bar,
A short life and a merry 'un
Is better far,
Than a long life and a dreary 'un.'
The other two took up the last line and howled it forth with the lusty strength of unimpaired lungs.
'That's your style, Alf!' shouted Dave. 'Fill up the glasses, pard, and to hell with the blue devils.'
Plang!
Three glasses were raised, emptied in a quick gulp, then replenished. There were hurrying footsteps through the night beneath, while a stranger, more solemn sound uprose from the church, where the windows were filled with yellow light. A solemn mass was being sung for the repose of the soul of the dead priest.