Where are ye there! Hallo!' With such vociferations, and with a boisterous manner which bespoke his perfect abandonment to the general licence and disorder, he groped his way towards the shed, where Hugh and Barnaby were sitting on the ground.
'Put it about!' he cried, handing his flask to Hugh.

'The kennels run with wine and gold.

Guineas and strong water flow from the very pumps.
About with it, don't spare it!' Exhausted, unwashed, unshorn, begrimed with smoke and dust, his hair clotted with blood, his voice quite gone, so that he spoke in whispers; his skin parched up by fever, his whole body bruised and cut, and beaten about, Hugh still took the flask, and raised it to his lips.

He was in the act of drinking, when the front of the shed was suddenly darkened, and Dennis stood before them.
'No offence, no offence,' said that personage in a conciliatory tone, as Hugh stopped in his draught, and eyed him, with no pleasant look, from head to foot.

'No offence, brother.