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"Come, you yaller-cheeked chiefs; you's die if you no make a heffort. Come on deck, breeve de fresh air. Git up a happetite. Go in for salt pork, plum duff, and lop-scouse, an' you'll git well 'fore you kin say Jack Rubinson." Tomeo and Buttchee looked up at the jovial negro and smiled imbecile smiles they were.
'Ye must 'ave something. 'A cup of tea, a slice of toast. I'm not hungry. 'Well, ye are worse than a young lady for a happetite. Miss Massey 'as sent you down these 'ere papers. The servant-girl laid the papers on the bed, and Hubert lay back on his pillow, so that he might collect his thoughts. Stretching forth his hands, he selected the inevitable paper.
"To enjoy myself so," continued Pen, "while you, with your mouth so out of taste and no appetite, could hardly eat a bit." "Well, who's to have a happetite with a wound like mine? I shall never get no better till I get a mug of real old English beer." "Never mind; you get plenty of milk." "Ya! Nasty, sickly stuff! I'll never touch it again." "Well then, beautiful sparkling water."
"Go on then," said Dick, wearily. "Here goes then. You know your cousin to be in the habit of going out grassing and taking walks up Constitootion Hill for training hisself?" "Well, no, Jerry, I never did." "Never found him fond o' buttercups and daisies, or prospects and views and that sort o' thing?" "No." "Nor yet taking six or seven or eight-mile walks to get himself a happetite?" "Never."
"My dear, I'm gettin' along like a game chicken, perhaps I might say like Dan, who's got the most uncommon happetite as I ever did see. He's a fine fellow, Dan is, ain't he, Mrs Brown?" "Brute," said Mrs Brown; "they're all brutes." "Ah!" said Hobbs, shaking his head, "strong language, Mrs Brown.
Don't let it tumble off your knees, now; I'd adwise you to lower 'em for the time bein'. Here's the spoon; it ain't as bright as I could wish, but you can't expect much of pewter; an' the napkin that's your sort; an' the bit of bread which it isn't too much for a 'ealthy happetite. Now then, granny, go in and win!" "So like," murmured the old woman, as she gazed in Slidder's face.
"Well, mum," replied Salter, bashfully, and stroking his long black beard to gain time to select the grandest words he could think of, "it is hardly to be regarded in the light of happetite, that there bottle, it is more in the nature of remedies." "And do you really mean to say you drank it, Salter?" I inquired with horror. "Certainly I do, mum, whenever I felt out o' sorts.
Pig-headed you might in reason call me, Sir Jarvy; for I do looks arter the pigs, which is the only real stand-by in a ship; but I never dreams of a chicken, except for your happetite. When they was eight on 'em " "Was the prize in sight?" demanded Sir Gervaise, a little sharply. "No, Sir Jarvy; she had disappeared, and the Druid with her.
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