Step up, boys, and have a drink." The invitation was readily accepted by all except Phil.

Noticing that the boy kept his place, the sailor said, "Step up, boy, and wet your whistle." Phil liked the weak wines of his native land, but he did not care for the poisonous decoctions of be found in such places.
"I am not thirsty," he said.
"Yes, you are; here, give this boy a glass of brandy." "I do not want it," said Phil.
"You won't drink with us," exclaimed the sailor, who had then enough to be quarrelsome.

"Then I'll make you;" and he brought down his fist so heavily upon the counter as to make the glasses rattle.

"Then I'll make you.

Here, give me a glass, and I'll pour it down his throat." The fiddler was frightened at his vehemence, and darted to the door.