His voice was loudest, and his oratory more decidedly effective than ever.
The prospect before him was also of so seductive a character, that he yielded more than was his wont to the influences of the bottle-god: who stood little iron-hooped keg, perched upon a shelf conveniently in the corner.
"Here Cuffee, you thrice-blackened baby of Beelzebub!--why stand you there, arms akimbo, and showing your ivories, when you see we have no whiskey! Bring in the jug, you imp of darkness--touch us the Monongahela, and a fresh tumbler for Mr.Forrester--and, look you, one too for Col.

Blundell, seeing he's demolished the other.

Quick, you terrapin!" Cuffee recovered himself in an instant.

His hands fell to his sides--his mouth closed intuitively; and the whites of his eyes changing their fixed direction, marshalled his way with a fresh jug, containing two or more quarts, to the rapacious lawyer.
"Ah, you blackguard, that will do--now, Mr.Forrester--now, Col.
Blundell--don't be slow--no backing out, boys--hey, for a long drink to the stock in trade of our friend the pedler." So spoke Pippin; a wild huzza attested the good humor which the proposition excited.

Potation rapidly followed potation, and the jug again demanded replenishing.