“Just guess how.”
“By the tone of his voice perhaps, and his accent,” said Curzon.
“Devil a bit, for he spoke remarkably well, considering how far gone he was in liquor.”
“Well, probably by the touch of his hand; no bad test.”
“No; you’re wrong again, for it was by the hair I had a hold of him for fear of falling, for he was always stooping down. Well, you’d never guess it; it was just by the touch of his foot.”
“His foot! Why how did that give you any information?”
“There it is now; that’s just what only an Irishman would ever have made any thing out of; for while he was stumbling about, he happened to tread upon my toes, and never, since I was born, did I feel any thing like the weight of him. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘the loss of your hat may give you a cold, my friend; but upon my conscience you are in no danger of wet feet with such a pair of strong brogues as you have on you.’ Well, he laughed at that till I thought he’d split his sides, and, in good truth, I could not help joining in the fun, although my foot was smarting like mad, and so we jogged along through the rain, enjoying the joke just as if we were sitting by a good fire, with a jorum of punch between us. I am sure I can’t tell you how often we fell that night, but my clothes the next morning were absolutely covered with mud, and my hat crushed in two; for he was so confoundedly drunk it was impossible to keep him up, and he always kept boring along with his head down, so that my heart was almost broke in keeping him upon his legs. I’m sure I never had a more fatiguing march in the whole Peninsula, than that blessed mile and a half; but every misfortune has an end at last, and it was four o’clock, striking by the college clock, as we reached the barracks. After knocking a couple of times, and giving the countersign, the sentry opened the small wicket, and my heart actually leaped with joy that I had done with my friend; so, I just called out the sergeant of the guard, and said, ‘will you put that poor fellow on the guard-bed till morning, for I found him on the common, and he could neither find his way home nor tell me where he lived.’ ‘And where is he?’ said the sergeant. ‘He’s outside the gate there,’ said I, ‘wet to the skin, and shaking as if he had the ague.’ ‘And is this him?’ said the sergeant as we went outside. ‘It is,’ said I, ‘maybe you know him?’ ‘Maybe I’ve a guess,’ said he, bursting into a fit of laughing, that I thought he’d choke with. ‘Well, sergeant,’ said I, ‘I always took you for a humane man; but, if that’s the way you treat a fellow-creature in distress.’ ‘A fellow-creature,’ said he, laughing louder than before. ‘Ay, a fellow-creature,’ said I—for the sergeant was an orangeman—‘and if he differs from you in matters of religion, sure he’s your fellow-creature still.’ ‘Troth, Doctor, I think there’s another trifling difference betune us,’ said he. ‘Damn your politics,’ said I; ‘never let them interfere with true humanity.’ Wasn’t I right, Major? ‘Take good care of him, and there’s a half-a-crown for ye.’ So saying these words, I steered along by the barrack wall, and, after a little groping about, got up stairs to my quarters, when, thanks to a naturally good constitution, and regular habits of life, I soon fell fast asleep.”
When the Doctor had said thus much, he pushed his chair slightly from the table, and, taking off his wine, looked about him with the composure of a man who has brought his tale to a termination.
“Well, but Doctor,” said the Major, “you are surely not done. You have not yet told us who your interesting friend turned out to be.”
“That’s the very thing, then, I’m not able to do.”