“When I was in the Fusiliers
Some fourteen years ago.”’
“‘No, no; confound it! I’ve heard nothing else since I joined the regiment. Let us have the “Paymaster’s Daughter.”’
“‘Ah! that’s pathetic; I like that,’ lisped a young ensign.
“‘If I’m to have a vote,’ grunted out the senior major, ‘I pronounce for “West India Quarters.”’
“‘Yes, yes,’ said half-a-dozen voices together; ‘let’s have “West India Quarters.” Come, give him a glass of sherry, and let him begin.’
“I had scarcely finished off my glass, and cleared my throat for my song, when the clock on the chimney-piece chimed half-past nine, and the same instant I felt a heavy hand fall upon my shoulder. I turned and beheld my servant Tim. This, as I have already mentioned, was the hour at which Tim was in the habit of taking me home to my quarters; and though we had dined an hour later, he took no notice of the circumstance, but true to his custom, he was behind my chair. A very cursory glance at my ‘familiar’ was quite sufficient to show me that we had somehow changed sides; for Tim, who was habitually the most sober of mankind, was, on the present occasion, exceedingly drunk, while I, a full hour before that consummation, was perfectly sober.
“‘What d’ye want, sir?’ inquired I, with something of severity in my manner.
“‘Come home,’ said Tim, with a hiccough that set the whole table in a roar.
“‘Leave the room this instant,’ said I, feeling wrath at being thus made a butt of for his offences. ‘Leave the room, or I’ll kick you out of it.’ Now, this, let me add in a parenthesis, was somewhat of a boast, for Tim was six feet three, and strong in proportion, and when in liquor, fearless as a tiger.
“‘You’ll kick me out of the room, eh, will you? Try, only try it, that’s all.’ Here a new roar of laughter burst forth, while Tim, again placing an enormous paw upon my shoulder, continued, ‘Don’t be sitting there, making a baste of yourself, when you’ve got enough. Don’t you see you’re drunk?’