"Let a man get drunk if he likes.

That's Shakespeare, Cruttendon.

I'm with you there.
Shakespeare had more guts than all these damned frogs put together.
'Hang there like fruit my soul,'" he began quoting, in a musical rhetorical voice, flourishing his wine-glass.

"The devil damn you black, you cream-faced loon!" he exclaimed as the wine washed over the rim.
"'Hang there like fruit my soul,'" Cruttendon and Jacob both began again at the same moment, and both burst out laughing.
"Curse these flies," said Mallinson, flicking at his bald head.

"What do they take me for ?" "Something sweet-smelling," said Cruttendon.
"Shut up, Cruttendon," said Jacob.