He had scarcely been gone, when a tumult reached their ears from outside, in which one voice was heard considerably louder and deeper than the rest; and almost immediately afterwards an old acquaintance of the reader's, to wit, the worthy student, Ambrose Gray, in a very respectable state of intoxication, made his appearance, charged with drunkenness, riot, and a blushing reluctance to pay his tavern reckoning. Mr. Gray was dragged in at very little expense of ceremony, it must be confessed, but with some prospective damage to his tailor, his clothes having received considerable abrasions in the scuffle, as well as his complexion, which was beautifully variegated with tints of black, blue, and yellow.
“Well, Mr. Gray,” said Darby, “back once more I see? Why, you couldn't live without us, I think. What's this now?”
“A deficiency of assets, most potent,” replied Gray, with a hiccough—“unable to meet a rascally tavern reckoning;” and as Mr. Gray spoke he thrust his tongue into his cheek, intimating by this significant act his high respect for Mr. Darby.
“You had better remember, sir, that you are addressing the senior officer here,” said the latter, highly offended.
“Most potent, grave, and reverend senior, I don't forget it; nor that the grand senior can become a most gentlemanly ruffian whenever he chooses. No, senior, I respect your ruffianship, and your ruffianship ought to respect me; for well you wot that many a time before now I've greased that absorbing palm of yours.”
“Ah,” replied Darby, “the hemp is grown for you, and the rope is purchased that will soon be greased for your last tug. Why didn't you pay your bill, I say?”
“I told you before, most potent, that that fact originated in a deficiency of assets.”
“I rather think, Mr. Gray,” said Darby, “that it originated in a very different kind of deficiency—a deficiency of inclination, my buck.”
“In both, most reverend senior, and I act on scriptural principles; for what does Job say? 'Base is the slave that patient pays.'”
“Well, my good fellow, if you don't pay, you'll be apt to receive, some fine day, that's all,” and here he made a motion with his arm, as if he were administering the cat-o'-nine-tails; “however, this is not my business. Here comes Mrs. Mulroony to make her charge. I accordingly shove you over to Ned Nightcap, the officer for the night.”