“What do you mean, you sot?”
“Mean—mee-an! I mean the g-gig-game’s up. ’Tis, by Jingo! Splend’d chance. Never have such ’nother. Million dollars! All spoiled—th’ infernal fella!”
“What fellow?”
“Who d’ye ’spose I’ve seen—met him in the ball—ball—bar-room—down below. Let’s have another drink! Drinks all round—who’s g-gig-goin’ drink?”
“Try and talk a little straighter! What’s this about?”
“Whas’t ’bout? What sh’d be about? Him—hic’p! ’bout him.”
“Him! who?”
“Who—who—who—why, Maynard. Of course you know Maynard? B’long to the Thirty—Thirty—Don’t reclect the number of regiment. No matter for that. He’s here—the c-c-confounded cur.”
“Maynard here!” exclaimed the valet, in a tone strange for a servant.
“B’shure he is! Straight as a trivet, curse him! Safe to spoil everything—make a reg’lar mucker of it.”