“Yes, that’s all right. One of them tried to take it; but I wouldn’t let him. I’m sober enough for that. It’s only my legs that be drunk. My hands are all right.”
Stormy’s legs were indeed drunk, so much so, that Guinane and I had much difficulty in getting him along. We were obliged to place him between us, each supporting one of his sides. After considerable labour, we succeeded in taking him to a house where I was acquainted. Here we put him to bed; and, after leaving instructions with the landlord, not to let him depart until one of us should return, we went home to our own lodgings.
Next morning, at an early hour, I called to see Stormy; and found him awake and waiting for me.
“You done me a good turn last night,” said he, “and I shall not forget it, as I have you.”
“Why do you think you have forgotten me?” I asked.
“Because last night you called me Stormy Jack; and from that, I know you must have seen me before. I’ve not been hailed by that name for several years. Now, don’t tell me who you are: for I want to find out for myself.”
“You could not have been very drunk last night,” said I, “or you would not remember what you were called?”
“Yes, would I,” answered Stormy, “according as the land lay, or what sort of drunk it was. Sometimes my mind gets drunk, and sometimes my legs. It’s not often they both get drunk together. Last night it was the legs. Had you been a man six or seven years ago, when I was called Stormy Jack, I should remember you: for I’ve got a good memory of things that don’t change much. But when I used to be called Stormy Jack, you must have been a bit o’ a tiny boy. Now, who can you be? What a stupid memory I’ve got!” continued he, scratching his head. “There’s no way of teaching it manners, as I knows of. But what boy used to call me Stormy Jack—that looked as you ought to have looked a few years ago? Ah! now I have it. Bless my eyes, if you arn’t the Rollin’ Stone!”
Stormy then rushed forward, grasped my hand, and nearly crushed it between his strong, sinewy fingers.
“Rowley, my boy!” said he, “I knew we should meet again. I’ve thought of you, as I would of my own son, if I’d had one. I’ve looked the world over, trying to find you. How come you to hail me by name last night? You are an astonishing chap. I knew you would be; and some one has larnt you manners. Ah! I suppose ’twas Nature as did it?”