“Keep clear o’ this fellow’s heels, Jack, he’s agoin’ to fire another broadside.”
“If he does he’ll unship you,” cried Jack, who was himself at the same moment unshipped, while the owner of the donkey, and of the other donkeys, shouted advice, if nothing worse, in Arabic and broken English.
In a few minutes the sailors “boarded” the Institute, and drew the whole force of the establishment to the bar in order to supply the demand.
“Ah! thin, ye’ve got Irish whisky, haven’t ye?” demanded a facetious seaman.
“Yes, plenty, but we call it coffee here!” answered the equally facetious barman, whose satellites were distributing hot and cold drinks with a degree of speed that could only be the fruit of much practice.
“You’ll have to be jolly on mild swipes,” said one; “no tostikatin’ liquors allowed, Dick.”
“H’m!” growled Dick.
“Got any wittles here?” demanded another man, wiping his lips with his sleeve.
“Yes, plenty. Sit down and order what you want.”
“For nothin’?” asked the tar.