Dunn told Manuel to be seated, that there was no occasion for hurrying; it would be all right if he got to the sheriffs office at nine o’clock; and then commenced descanting upon the fine time he would have at the jail.  “There’s a right good lot of comrades there, me boy; ye’ll have fiddling and dancing, plenty of gals, and a jolly time; and ye a’n’t a criminal, ye know, so it won’t be any thing at all, only keep up a stiff under-lip.  Come, let us take another drink; I feel mighty husky this morning!” said he.

Just at this time Dusenberry re-entered, puffing and blowing as if he had been engaged in a foot-race.  “Another bird for old Grimshaw, at Commercial Wharf!  I know’d she had one aboard, ’cause I seed him from the wharf,” said he, in perfect ecstasy, pulling out a pencil and making a note in a little book.

“Don’t be a child,” said Dunn.  “Come, we have just proposed another drink; you join of course; ye niver says no,—­eh, Duse?” They stepped to the counter, and Dunn, again, pointing his finger upon his nose at the Dutchman, who stood with his hands spread upon the counter, called for gin and bitters, Stoughton light.  Turning to Manuel, who was sitting upon a bench with his head reclined upon his hand, apparently in deep meditation, he took him by the collar in a rude manner, and dragging him to the counter, said, “Come, by the pipers, rouse up your spirits, and don’t be sulking, my old Portugee; take another O-be-joyful, and it’ll put ye all right, and ye’ll dance a hornpipe like a jim-crack.”

“Excuse me, sir; I think I have taken enough; do, please, either take me back to my vessel, or where you are going to.  This is no place for me!” said Manuel.

“Sure, what signifies; don’t be talking your botheration here; a nigger musn’t sauce a white man.  Come, there’s no use backing out; you must take a glass of Swizer’s lager beer,” said Dunn.

Manuel looked around him, and then closing up very reluctantly, the Dutchman filled his glass with frothy beer, and the three touched glasses and drank.  They then retired to a bench and commenced discussing the propriety of some point of their official privileges, while Manuel was left standing at the counter.

“Who pay de drink vat shu get?” inquired the Dutchman, anxious to serve two little niggers who had just come in with bottles in their hands.

“It was our friend’s treat; come, my good fellow, do the clean thing according to Southern science.  We’ll put a good word in for you to the jailer; you won’t lose nothing by it,” said Dusenberry.

“My friends, I work hard for my money, and have none to spend foolishly.  The small amount is of little consequence, but I would much sooner make you a present of it, than to be drugged by pretence.  I’ve no desire to indulge the propensities of others.  Whatever you are going to do with me, do it; and let me know my fate.  I am sick and fatigued, and have need for the doctor.  Take me to a prison or where you please.  I have done no crime; I want sleep, not punishment.  Next time I shipwrecked, I get plank and go overboard ’fore I cum to Charleston.”  So saying, he pulled out fifty cents and threw it upon the counter, and the Dutchman swept it into the drawer, as if it was all right, and “just the change.”