ye? Are ye going to let that rascal beat ye? Do ye love brandy? A hogshead of brandy, then, to the best man. Come, why don’t some of ye burst a blood-vessel? Who’s that been dropping an anchor overboard — we don’t budge an inch — we’re becalmed.

Halloo, here’s grass growing in the boat’s bottom — and by the Lord, the mast there’s budding. This won’t do, boys. Look at that Yarman! The short and long of it is, men, will ye spit fire or not?”

“Oh! See the suds he makes!” cried Flask, dancing up and down — “What a hump — Oh, do pile on the beef — lays like a log! Oh! My lads, do spring — slap-jacks and quahogs for supper, you know, my lads — baked clams and muffins — oh, do, do, spring, — he’s