Come, patron, we will drink to Mr.What-shall-call-um.

What is his name?
Did you tell me?
And have I forgot it already.' 'Mr.Alan Fairford,' said Trumbull.
'Aye, Mr.Alan Fairford--a good name for a fair trader--Mr.Alan Fairford; and may he be long withheld from the topmost round of ambition, which I take to be the highest round of a certain ladder.' While he spoke, he seized the punch-ladle, and began to fill the glasses.

But Mr.Trumbull arrested his hand, until he had, as he expressed himself, sanctified the liquor by a long grace; during the pronunciation of which he shut indeed his eyes, but his nostrils became dilated, as if he were snuffing up the fragrant beverage with peculiar complacency.
When the grace was at length over, the three friends sat down to their beverage, and invited Alan Fairford to partake.

Anxious about his situation, and disgusted as he was with his company, he craved, and with difficulty obtained permission, under the allegation of being fatigued, heated, and the like, to stretch himself on a couch which was in the apartment, and attempted at least to procure some rest before high-water, when the vessel was to sail.
He was at length permitted to use his freedom, and stretched himself on the couch, having his eyes for some time fixed on the jovial party he had left, and straining his ears to catch if possible a little of their conversation.

This he soon found was to no purpose for what did actually reach his ears was disguised so completely by the use of cant words and the thieves-latin called slang, that even when he caught the words, he found himself as far as ever from the sense of their conversation.