“I did.”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself to answer. Just shut up for a minute or two. You were rather a soft green youth then, and you don’t seem to be much harder or less verdant now.”
“Sir!” I exclaimed, getting angry.
“Just so,” continued he, “and you knew a young rascal there—”
“I know a rascal here,” I exclaimed, starting up, “whom I’ll kick—”
“What!” cried the little stranger, also starting up and capsizing the chair; “Ralph Rover, has time and sunburning and war so changed my visage that you cannot recognise Peterkin?”
I almost gasped for breath.
“Peterkin—Peterkin Gay!” I exclaimed.
I am not prone to indulge in effeminate demonstration, but I am not ashamed to confess that when I gazed on the weather-beaten though ruddy countenance of my old companion, and observed the eager glance of his bright blue eyes, I was quite overcome, and rushed violently into his arms. I may also add that until that day I had had no idea of Peterkin’s physical strength; for during the next five minutes he twisted me about and spun me round and round my own room until my brain began to reel, and I was fain to cry him mercy.
“So, you’re all right—the same jolly, young old wiseacre in whiskers and long coat,” cried Peterkin. “Come now, Ralph, sit down if you can. I mean to stay with you all evening, and all night, and all to-morrow, and all next day, so we’ll have lots of time to fight our battles o’er again. Meanwhile compose yourself, and I’ll tell you what I’ve come about. Of course, my first and chief reason was to see your face, old boy; but I have another reason too—a very peculiar reason. I’ve a proposal to make and a plan to unfold, both of ’em stunners; they’ll shut you up and screw you down, and altogether flabbergast you when you hear ’em, so sit down and keep quiet—do.”