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"I don't seem to follow you, Mr. Gold." "I have never been a wine-drinker," said Gold, "but I may speak of wine to make clear my mean-in'. If you had been drinkin' a wonderful fine glass of port or sherry wine, you wouldn't try to take the taste out of your mouth with varjuice." "I've tasted both," said the 'cello-player, "but they niver sp'iled my mouth for a glass of honest beer."
If I'd played as well as thee I might have held on at it, though even then it ud ha' gone a bit agen the grain." "Agen the grain?" asked the 'cello-player, in his cheery voice. "With a tone like that? Why, I mek bold to tell you, Mr. Gold, as theer is not a hammer-chewer on the fiddle, not for thirty or may be forty mile around, as has a tone to name in the same day with Rewben."
"Ruth," called the 'cello-player, as the girl reappeared, bearing a tray with a huge jug and glasses, "come along with the beer. And when we've had a drink, lads, well have a cut at the hallygro. It's marked 'vivaysy, Reuben, an' it'll tek thee all thy time to get the twirls and twiddles i' the right placen."
"My blessid!" cried Sennacherib, "I niver see such a man!" "Well, well!" said the 'cello-player, "here's a bit. You seem to ha' forgot your own." "What's that got to do wi' it?" Sennacherib demanded. "I shall live to learn as two blacks mek a white by-an'-by, I reckon. There niver was a party o' four but there was three wooden heads among 'em."
"It was wonderful well played, Mr. Eld," the old man answered. "Beat!" said Isaiah. "Why it stands to natur' as it could be beat. D'ye think Paganyni couldn't play a better second fiddle than I can?" "Ought to play second fiddle pretty well thyself," returned Sennacherib. "Hast been at it all thy life. Ever since thee was married, annyway." "Come, come, come," said the fat 'cello-player.
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