Gorman glanced back, and then turned away as if in contempt, but, suddenly checking himself, returned, and going up to Hooper with as affable a smile as his countenance would admit of, said that he was delighted to shake hands with him, and that he was the very man he wanted to see, as he wished to have a word of conversation with him.
“Conv’shas’n wi’ me?” said Ned, swaying himself to and fro as he endeavoured to look steadily in the face of his friend; “fire away, shen. I’m sh’ man f’r conv’shash’n, grave or gay, comic—’r—shublime, ’s all the shame to me!”
He finished the pot, and laid it, with an immense assumption of care, on the counter.
“Come out, we’ll walk as we talk,” said Gorman.
“Ha! to b’shure; ’at’s poetical—very good, very good, we’ll wa–alk as we talk—ha! ha! very good. Didn’t know you wash a poet—eh? don’t look like ’un.”
“Come along, then,” said Gorman, taking him by the arm.
“Shtop!” said Ned, drawing himself up with an air of drivelling dignity, and thrusting his hand into his trouser-pocket.
“What for?” asked the other.
“I haven’t p–paid for my b–beer.”
“Never mind the beer. I’ll stand that,” said Gorman, dragging his friend away.