“You’re the laird of a splendid estate of rocks and scrub,” said Captain Dall to Will.
“Not to mention the river,” replied Will, smiling.
“Without fish in it, ha!” groaned Cupples.
“But lots o’ goold,” suggested Larry, with a wink; “give us a drop o’ yer grog, lads, it’s dry work meetin’ so many friends all at wanst.”
“Nothin’ but water here!” said Muggins.
“What! wos ye singin’ like that on cowld wather?”
“We wos!” returned Muggins.
“An’ what’s more,” said Old Peter, “we’ve got used to it, an’ don’t feel the want of grog at all. ‘What’s in a name,’ as Jonathan Edwards says in his play of ‘Have it yer own way,’ or somethin’ like that. Why, if you call it grog an’ make believe, it goes down like—like—”
“Wather,” suggested Larry; “well, well, let’s have a drop, whativer it is.”
“But how comes it to pass,” inquired Will, “that we should all meet here just as people are made to do in a novel, or at the end of the last scene in a play?”