Amidst the general applause and merriment excited by this appeal, I pushed over a tumbler to Joey, who took up the punch-bowl, and soon transferred its remaining contents into the glass, which he handed, brimming, to Cupid. The next moment it stood empty on the table. Cupid smacked his lips.
"Cupid," said the Colonel in a tone of authority, "what's your opinion of that punch?"
"Pertickerly obleeged to yer honour," replied Cupid, "and to haul the company vot's present." Cupid then made a nip at his knee, as if suddenly bit; and, availing himself of the stoop, whispered Joey: "Please, sir, did the Cornal brew it hisself?" With a twitch of the mouth, and a twist of the eye, Joey indicated Gingham.
"Come, Cupid," said the Colonel, "I want a direct answer. Tell me your opinion of that punch." The Colonel had a plot.
"Bless yer art, yer honour," said Cupid.
"Come, speak up, sir," said the Colonel.
"Speak up, man," said Gingham.
"Vell, yer honour," said Cupid, "I haulvays speaks the troof, except I'm hordered the contary. Pleasant tipple, wherry. But if so be I hadn't not a' seed it in the punch-bowl, vhy, I shouldn't not a' knowed it vos punch, not no how."
"What drink do you like best, Cupid?" said the Major. "What d'ye think of water, now?"
"Vhy, I think this, yer honour," replied Cupid: "I'm a pertickler dislike to vorter; that's vot I think. I vouldn't ride no oss into no vorter, no, not for nothink."