“Sailing!” cried Lovibond.
“That’s so,” said Davy. “Back to the ould oven we came from. Pacific steamer laves Liverpool by the afternoon tide, and we’ll catch her aisy if we take the ‘Snaefell’ in the morning. Fixed a couple of berths by telegraph, and paid through Dumbell’s. Only ninety pounds the two—for’ard passage—but nearly claned out at that. What’s the odds though? Enough left to give the boys a blow-out to-night, and then, heigho! stone broke, cut your stick and get out of it.”
“A couple of berths? Did you say two?” said Lovibond.
“I’m taking Willie along with me,” said Davy; “and he’s that joyful at the thought of it that you can’t get a word out of him for hallelujahs.”
Willie’s joy expressed itself at that moment in a moan, as he rose from the table with a woe-begone countenance, and went out on his errand of invitation.
“But you’ll stay on,” said Davy, “Eh?”
“No,” said Lovibond, in a melancholy voice.
“Why not, then?” said Davy.
Lovibond did not answer at once, and Davy heaved up to a sitting posture that he might look into his face.
“Why, man; what’s this—what’s this?” said Davy. “You’re looking as down as ould Kinvig at the camp meeting, when the preacher afore him had used up all his tex’es. What’s going doing?”