“I can’t say that I perceive it,” replied I, smiling.
“Well, then, if I don’t it’s the fault of my having no legs. I’m sure when they were knocked off I lost half the blood in my body, and that’s the reason, I suppose. At all events, I meant to blush, so we’ll take the will for the deed.”
“But do you mean to keep sober in future, father?” said Tom.
“Never do you mind that—mind your own business, Mr Tom. At all events, I sha’n’t get tipsy till next time, and that’s all I can say with safety, ’cause, d’ye see, I knows my failing. Jacob, did you ever see that old gentleman sail too close to the wind before?”
“I never did—I do not think that he was ever tipsy before last night.”
“Then I pities him—his headache, and his repentance. Moreover, there be his nose and the swallow-tail of his coat to make him unhappy. We shall be down abreast of the Hospital in half-an-hour. Suppose you go and give him a shake, Jacob. Not you, Tom; I won’t trust you—you’ll be doing him a mischief; you haven’t got no fellow-feeling, not even for dumb brutes.”
“I’ll thank you not to take away my character that way, father,” replied Tom. “Didn’t I put you to bed last night when you were speechless?”
“Suppose you did—what then?”
“Why, then, I had a feeling for a dumb brute. I only say that, father, for the joke of it, you know,” continued Tom, going up to his father and patting his rough cheek.
“I know that, my boy; you never were unkind, that’s sartain; but you must have your joke—