“W’ich means?” inquired Pat.
“That I don’t drink nothin’ at all,” replied Bob.
“But you’re a-drinkin’ now!” said Pat.
“You know what I mean, you small willain; I drink nothin’ with spirits in it.”
“Well, I don’t see what you gains by that, Bob, for I heerd Fred Martin say you was nat’rally ‘full o’ spirit,’ so abstainin’ ’ll make no difference.”
“Pat,” said Bob sternly, “if you don’t clap a stopper on your tongue, I’ll wollop you.”
Pat became grave at once. “Well, d’ee know, Bob,” he said, with an earnest look, “I do b’lieve you are right. You’ve always seemed to me as if you had a sort o’ dissipated look, an’ would go to the bad right off if you gave way to drink. Yes, you’re right, an’ to prove my regard for you I’ll become a total abstainer too—but, nevertheless, I can’t leave off drinkin’.”
“Can’t leave off drinkin’!” echoed Bob.
Pat shook his head. “No—can’t. ’Taint possible.”
“Why, wot do you mean?”