Art understood him, and returned a look which satisfied the
other that he did so.
As they warmed in their liquor, or pretended to get warm, many sly
attempts to entrap him were made, every one of which was openly and
indignantly opposed by Harte, who would not suffer them to offer him a
drop.
It is not our intention to dwell upon these matters: at present it is
sufficient to say, that after a considerable part of the evening had
been spent, Harte rose up, and called upon them all to fill their
glasses--
"And," he added, "as this is a toast that ought always to bring a full
glass to the mouth, and an empty one from it, I must take the liberty of
axin Art himself to fill a bumper."
The latter looked at him with a good deal of real surprise, as the
others did with that which was of a very different description.
"Skinadre," proceeded Harte, "will you hand over the cowld wather, for
a bumper it must be, if it was vitriol." He then filled Art's glass with
water, and proceeded--"Stand up, boys, and be proud, as you have a
right to be; here's the health of Frank Maguire, and the ould blood of
Ireland!--hip, hip, hurra!"
"Aisy, boys," said Art, whose heart was fired by this unexpected
compliment, paid to a brother whom he loved so well, and who, indeed,
so well, deserved his love; "aisy, boys," he proceeded, "hand me the
whiskey; if it was to be my last, I'll never drink my brother's health
in cowld wather.
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