"And beds fit to sleep on?"
"How many is there with you?"
"Three."
"Then there are beds enough, so that each one can have two. And now will you let me go to sleep, Pete Coffey?"
"Yes, unless you want a little taste of the Bouncing Betsey's West Indian rum."
"The Bouncing Betsey! West Indian rum, eh? Bring it right here, Pete, like a good fellow."
"I'm coming, my dear."
"That's right, come on. Oh! a friend in need is a friend indeed. I was just longing for some good, pure spirits; and now, here you come to me, like an angel of mercy!"
By this time Pete was in the bedroom and had found his way to the side of the bed.
"Where is it, Pete?" asked the old woman, eagerly stretching out her hand.