'Oh no!' replied Facey, with an air of indifference, as he took off the end
and jerked out the steam. 'Oh no--only wants work--only wants work,' added
he, putting it together again, exclaiming, as he looked at the now sulky
Sponge, 'Well, what shall it be?'
'Whatever you please,' replied our friend, dipping frantically into his
_Mogg_.
'Well, then, I'll play you me oncle's favourite tune, "The Merry Swiss
Boy,"' whereupon Facey set to most vigorously with that once most popular
air. It, however, came off as rustily as 'Jim Crow,' for whose feats Facey
evidently had a partiality; for no sooner did he get squeaked through 'me
oncle's' tune than he returned to the nigger melody with redoubled zeal,
and puffed and blew Sponge's calculations as to what he could ride from
'Mother Redcap's at Camden Town down Liquorpond Street, up Snow Hill, and
so on, to the 'Angel' in Ratcliff Highway for, clean out of his head. Nor
did there seem any prospect of relief, for no sooner did Facey get through
one tune than he at the other again.
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