“For next to nothing!” was the prompt reply. Meanwhile, those whose appetites were not quite so urgent had distributed themselves about the place, and were already busy with draughts, billiards, etcetera, while those who were of more sedate and inquiring temperament were deep in the columns of the English papers and magazines.
“I say, Fred Thorley, ain’t it bang up?” remarked a sturdy little man, through a huge slice of cake, with which he had just filled his mouth.
“Fuss-rate!” responded Fred, as he finished a cup of coffee at a draught and called for more. “Didn’t I tell you, Sam, that you’d like it better than the native grog-shops?”
“If they’d on’y got bitter beer!” sighed Sam.
“They’ve got better beer,” said his friend; “try some ginger-pop.”
“No thankee. If I can’t git it strong, let’s at least have it hot. But, I say, what’s come o’ the lobsters? Don’t seem to be many about. I thought this here Institoot was got up a-purpose for them.
“So it was, lad, includin’ us; but you don’t suppose that because you are out on the spree, everybody else is. They’re on dooty just now. Wait a bit an’ you’ll see plenty of ’em afore long.”
“Are all that come here Blue Lights?” asked Sam, with a somewhat doleful visage.
“By no manner o’ means,” returned his friend, with a laugh; “tho’ for the matter o’ that they wouldn’t be worse men if they was, but many of ’em are no better than they should be, an’ d’ee know, Sam, there are some of ’em actually as great blackguards a’most as yourself!”
“There’s some comfort in that anyhow,” returned Sam, with a pleasant smile, “for I hates to be pecooliar. By the way, Fred, p’r’aps they may be able to give you some noos here, if you ax ’em, about your friend Jack Molloy. He was a Blue Light, wasn’t he?”