My blessed word, the fun we'll
have wi' that Coyne to-morrow!"
Mr. Adams in a mental fog groped his way to the door opening on the
river steps, bolted it, groped his way back and stood scratching his
head. A grin, grotesque in the wavering light, contorted the long
lower half of the face for a moment and was gone. He seldom smiled.
"On the whole," said Mr. Adams, indicating the kegs, "I fancy these
better'n the naked objects upstairs. Suppose we spend the rest o'
the night here? It's easier," he added, "than runnin' to and fro for
the drink. But what about liquor not accumylatin'?"
PART II.
YE SEXES, GIVE EAR!
A STORY FROM A CHIMNEY-CORNER.
A good song, and thank' ee, Sir, for singing it! Time was, you'd
never miss hearing it in these parts, whether 'twas feast or
harvest-supper or Saturday night at the public. A virtuous good
song, too; and the merry fellow that made it won't need to cast about
and excuse himself when the graves open and he turns out with his
fiddle under his arm. My own mother taught it to me; the more by
token that she came from Saltash, and "Ye sexes, give ear" was a
terrible favourite with the Saltash females by reason of Sally
Hancock and her turn-to with the press-gang.
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