"No mate!" they vociferated. "No whusky!"
"No, ye bundle o' bad min, no whisky. Ye've drunk up what ye had, and that was in America. Yer not in America now, and ye'll git no whisky, nor mate, barrin' four times a week."
"We paid fur ut," they declaimed. "How kin a mon wurruk widout it?"
"Ye can wark widout it and ye will. Ye'll pull ropes as I tell you, and as ye l'arn ye'll steer the boat in yer turn."
"We'll shteer, will we?"
"Yes, ye'll steer, straight for old Ireland and praties."
"Hurrah! We'll git to the ould sod, will we?"
"Yes, but ye'll do it yerselves, mind ye. No kicks, no scraps. Ye'll do as yer told, and pull ropes, and wark."
"We'll wurruk," they declared, noisily. "It's not the loikes o' you th't'll foind the wurruk we can't do, nayther."
"We'll see," said Murphy, nodding his head portentously.