“Coorse, coorse,” they answered, from mouths half full already.
“That’s what Kinvig said when he was cutting up his sermon into firstly, secondly, thirdly, and fourteenthly.”
“Ha, ha! Kinvig! I’d drink the ould man’s health if I had anything,” cried the blacksmith, with a wink at his opposite neighbor.
“No liquor?” said Davy, looking up to sharpen the carving knife on the steel. “Am I laving you dry like herrings in the hould?”
“Season us, capt’n,” cried the black-smith, amid general laughter from the rest.
“Aw, lave you alone for that,” said Davy. “If you’re like myself you’re in pickle enough already.”
Then there were more winks and louder laughter.
“Mate!” shouted Davy over his shoulder to the waiter behind him, “a gallon to every gentleman.”
“Ay, ay,” from all sides of the table in various tones of satisfaction.
“Yes, sir—of course, sir; beg pardon, sir, here, sir,” said the waiter.