'Hang me, but that flute of yours wants nitre, or a dose of physic, or something most dreadful!' at length exclaimed he, squeezing up his face as if in the greatest agony, as the laboured:
'Jump about and wheel about'
completely threw Sponge over in his calculation as to what he could ride from Aldgate Pump to the Pied Bull at Islington for.
'Oh no!' replied Facey, with an air of indifference, as he took off the end and jerked out the steam. 'Oh no—only wants work—only wants work,' added he, putting it together again, exclaiming, as he looked at the now sulky Sponge, 'Well, what shall it be?'
'Whatever you please,' replied our friend, dipping frantically into his Mogg.
'Well, then, I'll play you me oncle's favourite tune, "The Merry Swiss Boy,"' whereupon Facey set to most vigorously with that once most popular air. It, however, came off as rustily as 'Jim Crow,' for whose feats Facey evidently had a partiality; for no sooner did he get squeaked through 'me oncle's' tune than he returned to the nigger melody with redoubled zeal, and puffed and blew Sponge's calculations as to what he could ride from 'Mother Redcap's at Camden Town down Liquorpond Street, up Snow Hill, and so on, to the 'Angel' in Ratcliff Highway for, clean out of his head. Nor did there seem any prospect of relief, for no sooner did Facey get through one tune than he at the other again.
'Rot it!' at length exclaimed Sponge, throwing his Mogg from him in despair, 'you'll deafen me with that abominable noise.' 'Bless my heart!' exclaimed Facey, in well-feigned surprise, 'Bless my heart! Why, I thought you liked music, my dear feller!' adding, 'I was playin' to please you.'
'The deuce you were!' snapped Mr. Sponge. 'I wish I'd known sooner: I'd have saved you a deal of wind.'
'Why, my dear feller,' replied Facey, 'I wished to entertain you the best in my power. One must do somethin', you know.'
'I'd rather do anything than undergo that horrid noise,' replied Sponge, ringing his left ear with his forefinger.