"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. But the sailor was too quick for him. Overtaking Phil, he
dragged him back with a rough grasp, and held out his hand for
the glass. But an unexpected friend now turned up.
"Oh, let the boy go, Jack," said a fellow sailor. "If he don't
want to drink, don't force him."
But his persecutor was made ugly by his potations, and swore that
Phil should drink before he left the barroom.
"That he shall not," said his new friend.
"Who is to prevent it?" demanded Jack, fiercely.
"I will."
"Then I'll pour a glass down your throat, too," returned Jack,
menacingly.
"No need of that. I am ready enough to drink. But the boy
shan't drink, if he don't want to."
"He shall!" retorted the first sailor, with an oath.
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