"
"Well, if Nelson's not the man, who is?"
"_Drywig's_ his name," replied Harte; "you all know one _Drywig_, don't
you?"
"Quit your cursed stuff, Harte," said a new speaker, named Garvey; "if
you think you can dose him, say so, and if not, let us have no more talk
about it."
"Faith, an' it'll be a nice card to play," replied Harte, resuming his
natural voice; "but at all events, if you will all drop into Garvey's
lodgins and mine, to-morrow evenin', you may find him there; but don't
blame me if I fail."
"No one's goin' to blame you," said Slanty, "an' the devil's own pity it
is that that blasted _Drywig_ of a brother of his keeps him in leadin'
strings the way he does."
"The way I'll do is this: I'll ask him up to look at the pattern of my
new waistcoat, an' wanst I get him in, all I have to do is to lay it on
thick."
"I doubt that," said another, who had joined them; "when he came here
first, and for a long time afther, soapin' him might do; but I tell you
his eye's open--it's no go--he's wide awake now."
"Shut your orifice," said Harte; "lave the thing to me; 'twas I did it
before, although he doesn't think so, an' it's I that will do it again,
although he doesn't think so. Haven't I been for the last mortal month
guardin' him aginst yez, you villains?"
"To-morrow evenin'?"
"Ay, to-morrow evenin'; an' if we don't give him a gauliogue that'll
make him dance the circumbendibus widout music--never believe that my
name's any thing else than Tom Thin, that got thick upon spring wather.
Pages:
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364