"Twenty guineas!" cried the lawyer: "God bless all our souls! twenty guineas for a retaining fee! Why then I'll be Theophilus Affidavy, sober, or Tef Affidavy, drunk, or any thing else that can be wished of man or angel. Out with your money, and state the case."
"Ay,—when you are sober."
"Sober! Twenty guineas would fetch me to, if I had been swimming in Schlachtenschlager's whiskey-barrel for two weeks on a stretch. Botheration, I'll take another dip in the slough there, and come out as clean as a peeled orange. But are you sure that a'n't my horse?"
"Quite; and if your beast belongs to the Squire, you may make your mind easy that he is now safe in his master's stables. I saw a saddled horse on the road, galloping as if a wild-cat was on the back of him."
"Good!" cried the attorney at law; "if I had drowned him, there would have been the devil to pay with old Schlachtenschlager. Hold fast, till I duck the devil out of me." And without waiting to say another word, he ran into the brook, where he began to splash about him with great spirit, the stranger, all the time, sitting by and observing him in silence.
There is, in all cases of drunkenness, a certain degree of voluntary intoxication, as it may be called, in which the mind yields itself a prisoner, before it is entirely overcome by the strength of the enemy. This is evinced by the rapidity with which many good souls, in jovial company, work themselves into frenzy; but still more by the facility with which they shake it off, when there is any special call for sobriety. In half the instances, even where the conduct is most extravagant, the individual retains a consciousness, more or less perfect, of his absurd acts, is aware that they proceed from a madness partly simulated, and sensible of some power in himself of controlling them, though not easily disposed to the labour of exercising it. We will not pretend to say that Mr. Affidavy, while he sat bestraddling the sycamore, was altogether conscious of his situation; but it is quite certain, he retained so much power of curing his folly, even in that extremity, that a less counter stimulus than the offer of a twenty-guinea fee would have sufficed to bring him to his senses. He frisked about in the water for a few minutes, dipped his head under two or three times, and came out, not entirely sober indeed, but, as he said himself, 'as fit for business as he ever was.'
"If you doubt, stranger, whoever you are," he said, "I'll sing you a song, or—No, hang it, we've had enough of that,—I'll make you a speech to court and jury extempore, and right to the point. But come now, jingle your money, and let's begin: or, if it's all one to you, we'll jog back to Schlachtenschlager's and borrow a dry shirt, and so give counsel like a gentleman."
To this proposal the traveller demurred, and requesting the lawyer to follow him, rode up to the brow of the hill, where he dismounted, and suffered his horse to range at will through the bushes, he himself taking a seat on a stone, and inviting Affidavy to do the same.
"A botheration strange fancy this, of yours, certainly," said the lawyer: "are we to sit here, like two stray ducks, and be soaked for nothing?"
"Look over your head," said the stranger: "there is not a cloud left in the heaven. No, not one," he muttered as if to himself; "and come weal or wo, come death or come life, the sun will shine to-morrow as bright as ever."