To
this end, they walked into a "Dutch corner shop," and passing into
the back room, gave sundry insinuations that could not be
misunderstood. "Well! come, who pays the shot?" said Dunn, stepping
up to the counter, and crooking his finger upon his nose at a
dumpling-faced Dutchman, who stood behind the counter, waiting for
his man to name it. The Dutchman was very short and very thick,
leaving the impression that he had been very much depressed in his
own country when young. He rubbed his hands and flirted his fingers
in motion of anxiety, "Every ting vat de shentleman vant him--dare
notin like to my zin and brondty vat him got mit ze zity," said
Dutchy.
"Gentlemen, I should be glad to have you drink with me, if it be
proper to ask," said Manuel
"Oh! yes--certainly, yes!--just what we come for, something to cut
away the cobwebs--'twouldn't do to go out in the morning fog without
a lining," said Dunn.
"Name it! name it! shentlemen," exclaimed the Dutchman, as he rapped
his fingers upon the counter, and seemed impatient to draw forth his
filthy stuff. They named their drinks, each with a different name.
Manuel not being a Charleston graduate in the profession of mixing
drinks and attaching slang names to them, Mr. Dusenberry undertook
to instruct him in a choice. The Dutchman was an adept at mixing,
and the "morning pulls" were soon set out to the extreme
satisfaction of Dunn and Dusenberry.
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