Read it through once

“Oh! see the suds he makes!” cried Flask, dancing up and down—“What a hump—Oh, _do_ pile on the beef—lays like a log! Oh! my lads, _do_ spring—slap-jacks and quohogs for supper, you know, my lads—baked clams and muffins—oh, _do, do,_ spring—he’s a hundred barreler—don’t lose him now—don’t oh, _don’t!_—see that Yarman—Oh! won’t ye pull for your duff, my lads—such a sog! such a sogger! Don’t ye love sperm? There goes three thousand dollars, men!—a bank!—a whole bank! The bank of England!—Oh, _do, do, do!_—What’s that Yarman about now?”