Acton laughed until his red face turned purple. "Oh, that's good—'nation good! Gentleman Jim—Jim the bully-boy, hasn't the honour of my acquaintance!"
As I stared at him he broke into laughter again, and gave me a resounding smack on the shoulder.
"You do it so well, Jim! Might ha' been born with a coronet on your head! 'Not having the honour of your acquaintance!'" Again he roared. "You are going out as governor of the colony, are you! Oh, you'll be the death of me with your jests!"
The fellow babbled on of the doings of Ulceby, of cheating at play and other frauds, of street brawls and manslaughter, until he talked himself dry and called for brandy, which was brought by a sluttish wench and placed on the table, the only furniture of the room, save a rickety chair which I occupied. Acton ceased his jabbering in order to drink, and I tried to get in a word; but as soon as he had gulped his dram, he went on unheeding me.
"The old man has more chink than ever, chandling and stockfish bring him in a pretty penny; but now he's gone in for whale fishing in the Greenland sea, and he has the devil's own luck. They say he is down for sheriff next year, but whether he can get you out of this scrape, Lord only knows."
"Of whom do you speak?" I asked.
Acton, seated on the table, was in the act of swallowing more brandy, but my question brought him to his feet, laughing, sputtering and coughing well-nigh to suffocation. When he regained breath, he vowed I was the drollest fellow living. Then he changed his tone to one of drunken gravity, inquiring what money I had, and continued—
"Look ye, Jim, a jest is all very well, but I must see your father's money, or have his word for it, or out you go into the cellars."
I had hard work to draw a plain meaning out of the man, his tipsy head being filled with the notion that I was the "Gentleman Jim" with whom he had such familiarity; but little by little I gathered that Ulceby the elder lived not far away, a man of substance and standing, who had paid his son's debts two or three times, from whom Acton had received a good deal of money for prison fees and food and lodging. This gave me hope of liberty, so I demanded paper and pen and ink, and wrote a few lines, asking Mr. Ulceby of his charity to come to see one, who was falsely imprisoned under the name of his son.
This letter Acton undertook to despatch and relieved me of his presence. Some two hours I spent alone in the darkening room, the wind howling outside with a most melancholy sound, and hearing fitfully a noise of talk and laughing from some room near, whenever a door was opened. About eight o'clock, Mr. Ulceby came in, Acton attending him with much obsequiousness. When the jailer had placed candles on the table and a chair for the visitor, Mr. Ulceby signified his desire to be left alone with me. On the first glance my spirits rose. He was a tall man, somewhat portly, silver-haired, and bore himself with natural dignity. He heard what I had to say of my capture and imprisonment at Melwood, my escape and recapture, with grave attention, two or three times asking a pertinent question, and at the end of it said smiling half sadly—