I should have stood up then, for my manhood, for my mate, and for little Clara, but I half rose from my chair, and Jack laughed and said, “Sit down, Joe, you old fool, you’re tanked. I know all about your seeing about the horses and your ginger-ales. It’s all right, old man. Do you think I’m going on the booze? Why, I’ll have to hold you on the horse all day.”
“Here’s luck, Joe!” said Jack, laughing, and lifting up his cup of coffee with the brandy in it. “Here’s luck, Joe.”
Then suddenly, and as clearly as I ever heard it, came Clara’s voice to my ear: “Promise me, whatever you do, that you will never have a drink with Jack.” And I felt cold and sick to the stomach.
I got up and went out. They thought that the drink had made me sick, but if I’d stayed there another minute I would have tackled Thomas; and I knew that I needed a clear head to tackle a bullock like him. I walked about a bit, and when I came in again Jack and Thomas were in the bar, and Jack had a glass before him.
“Come on, Joe, you old bounder,” said Jack, “come and have a whisky-and-soda; it will straighten you up.”
“What’s that you’re drinking, Jack?” I asked.
“Oh, don’t be a fool!” said Jack. “One drink won’t hurt me. Do you think I’m going on the booze? Have a soda and straighten up; we must make a start directly.”
I remember we had two or three whiskies, and then suddenly I tackled Thomas, and Jack was holding me back, and laughing and swearing at me at the same time, and I had a tussle with him; and then I was suddenly calmer and sensible, and we were shaking hands all round, and Jack was talking about just one more spree for the sake of old times.
“A bit of a booze won’t hurt me, Joe, you old fool,” he said. “We’ll have one more night of it, for the sake of Auld Lang Syne, and start at daylight in the morning. You go and see to the horses, it will straighten you up. Take the saddle off and hobble ’em out.”
But I insisted on starting at once, and Jack promised he would. We were gloriously happy for an hour or so, and then I went to sleep.