Tom had been educated at Edinburgh, and was strongly attached to what he calls metapheesicks; and, accordingly, after rubbing his forehead, he exclaimed—
“This is a psychological curiosity, which deserves to be developed. I happen to have half a sovereign about me” (an assertion which, I may remark in passing, excited considerable surprise in his audience), “and I’ll ask Harlow to dine with me at the Rainbow. I’ll get the story out of the Humpy rascal—and no mistake.”
We acquiesced in the propriety of this proceeding; and Antony Harrison, observing that he happened by chance to be disengaged, hooked himself on Tom, who seemed to have a sort of national antipathy to such a ceremony, with a talent and alacrity that proved him to be a veteran warrior, or what, in common parlance, is called an old soldier.
Tom succeeded in getting Harlow to dinner, and Harrison succeeded in making him pay the bill, to the great relief of Meggot’s half sovereign, and they parted at an early hour in the morning. The two Irishmen and myself were at Ginger’s shortly after breakfast; we had been part occupied in tossing halfpence to decide which of us was to send out for ale, when—Harrison and Meggot appeared. There was conscious confusion written in their countenances. “Did Humpy Harlow tell you that story?” we all exclaimed at once.
“It cannot be denied that he did,” said Meggot. “Precisely as the clock struck eleven, he commenced with ‘Humphries told me.’”
“Well—and what then?”
“Why, there it is,” said Antony Harrison, “may I be drummed out if I can recollect another word.”
“Nor I,” said Meggot.
The strangeness of this singular adventure made a deep impression on us all. We were sunk in silence for some minutes, during which Jerry Gallagher made his appearance with the ale, which I omitted to mention had been lost by Joe Macgillicuddy. We sipped that British beverage, much abstracted in deep thought. The thing appeared to us perfectly inscrutable. At last I said, “This never will do—we cannot exist much longer in this atmosphere of doubt and uncertainty. We must have it out of Harlow to-night, or there is an end of all the grounds and degrees of belief, opinion, and assent. I have credit,” said I, “at the widow’s, in St Martin’s Lane. Suppose we all meet there to-night, and get Harlow there if we can?”
“That I can do,” said Antony Harrison, “for I quartered myself to dine with him to-day, as I saw him home, poor little fellow, last night. I promise that he figures at the widow’s to-night at nine o’clock.”