"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."
I sat down accordingly, and tried to compose myself; but, to say truth,
I was so much overjoyed and excited by the sight of my old friend and
companion that I had some difficulty at first in fixing my attention on
what he said, the more especially that he spoke with extreme volubility,
and interrupted his discourse very frequently, in order to ask questions
or to explain.
"Now, old fellow," he began, "here goes, and mind you don't interrupt
me. Well, I mean to go, and I mean you to go with me, to--but, I
forgot, perhaps you won't be able to go. What are you?"
"What am I?"
"Ay, your profession, your calling; lawyer, M.D., scrivener--which?"
"I am a naturalist."
"A what?"
"A naturalist."
"Ralph," said Peterkin slowly, "have you been long troubled with that
complaint?"
"Yes," I replied, laughing; "I have suffered from it from my earliest
infancy, more or less."
"I thought so," rejoined my companion, shaking his head gravely. "I
fancied that I observed the development of that disease when we lived
together on the coral island. It don't bring you in many thousands a
year, does it?"
"No," said I, "it does not. I am only an amateur, having a sufficiency
of this world's goods to live on without working for my bread. But
although my dear father at his death left me a small fortune, which
yields me three hundred a year, I do not feel entitled to lead the life
of an idler in this busy world, where so many are obliged to toil night
and day for the bare necessaries of life. I have therefore taken to my
favourite studies as a sort of business, and flatter myself that I have
made one or two not unimportant discoveries, and added a few mites to
the sum of human knowledge. A good deal of my time is spent in
scientific roving expeditions throughout the country, and in
contributing papers to several magazines."
While I was thus speaking I observed that Peterkin's face was undergoing
the most remarkable series of changes of expression, which, as I
concluded, merged into a smile of beaming delight, as he said,--"Ralph,
you're a trump!"
"Possibly," said I, "you are right; but, setting that question aside for
the present, let me remind you that you have not yet told me where you
mean to go to."
"I mean," said Peterkin slowly, placing both hands on his knees and
looking me steadily in the face--"I mean to go a-hunting in--but I
forgot. You don't know that I'm a hunter, a somewhat famous hunter?"
"Of course I don't. You are so full of your plans and proposals that
you have not yet told me where you have been or what doing these six
years. And you ye never written to me once all that time, shabby
fellow. I thought you were dead."
"Did you go into mourning for me, Ralph?"
"No, of course not."
"A pretty fellow you are to find fault. You thought that I, your oldest
and best friend, was dead, and you did not go into mourning. How could
I write to you when you parted from me without giving me your address?
It was a mere chance my finding you out even now. I was taking a quiet
cup of coffee in the commercial room of a hotel not far distant, when I
overheard a stranger speaking of his friend `Ralph Rover, the
philosopher,' so I plunged at him promiscuously, and made him give me
your address. But I've corresponded with Jack ever since we parted on
the pier at Dover."
"What! Jack--Jack Martin?" I exclaimed, as a warm gush of feeling
filled my heart at the sound of his well-remembered name. "Is Jack
alive?"
"Alive! I should think so. If possible, he's more alive than ever; for
I should suppose he must be full-grown now, which he was not when we
last met. He and I have corresponded regularly. He lives in the north
of England, and by good luck happens to be just now within thirty miles
of this town. You don't mean to say, Ralph, that you have never met!"
"Never. The very same mistake that happened with you occurred between
him and me. We parted vowing to correspond as long as we should live,
and three hours after I remembered that we had neglected to exchange our
addresses, so that we could not correspond. I have often, often made
inquiries both for you and him, but have always failed. I never heard
of Jack from the time we parted at Dover till to-day."
"Then no doubt you thought us both dead, and yet you did not go into
mourning for either of us! O Ralph, Ralph, I had entertained too good
an opinion of you."
"But tell me about Jack," said I, impatient to hear more concerning my
dear old comrade.
"Not just now, my boy; more of him in a few minutes. First let us
return to the point. What was it? Oh! a--about my being a celebrated
hunter. A very Nimrod--at least a miniature copy. Well, Ralph, since
we last met I have been all over the world, right round and round it.
I'm a lieutenant in the navy now--at least I was a week ago. I've been
fighting with the Kaffirs and the Chinamen, and been punishing the
rascally sepoys in India, and been hunting elephants in Ceylon and
tiger-shooting in the jungles, and harpooning whales in the polar seas,
and shooting lions at the Cape; oh, you've no notion where all I've
been. It's a perfect marvel I've turned up here alive. But there's one
beast I've not yet seen, and I'm resolved to see him and shoot him
too--"
"But," said I, interrupting, "what mean you by saying that you were a
lieutenant in the navy a week ago?"
"I mean that I've given it up. I'm tired of the sea. I only value it
as a means of getting from one country to another. The land, the land
for me! You must know that an old uncle, a rich old uncle of mine, whom
I never saw, died lately and left me his whole fortune. Of course he
died in India. All old uncles who die suddenly and leave unexpected
fortunes to unsuspecting nephews are old Indian uncles, and mine was no
exception to the general rule. So I'm independent, like you, Ralph,
only I've got three or four thousand a year instead of hundreds, I
believe; but I'm not sure and don't care--and I'm determined now to go
on a long hunting expedition. What think ye of all that, my boy?"
"In truth," said I, "it would puzzle me to say what I think, I am so
filled with surprise by all you tell me. But you forget that you have
not yet told me to which part of the world you mean to go, and what sort
of beast it is you are so determined to see and shoot if you can."
"If I can!" echoed Peterkin, with a contemptuous curl of the lip. "Did
not I tell you that I was a _celebrated_ hunter? Without meaning to
boast, I may tell you that there is no peradventure in my shooting. If
I only get there and see the brute within long range, I'll--ha! won't
I!"
"Get _where_, and see _what_?"
"Get to Africa and see the gorilla!" cried Peterkin, while a glow of
enthusiasm lighted up his eyes. "You've heard of the gorilla, Ralph, of
course--the great ape--the enormous puggy--the huge baboon--the man
monkey, that we've been hearing so much of for some years back, and that
the niggers on the African coast used to dilate about till they caused
the very hair of my head to stand upon end? I'm determined to shoot a
gorilla, or prove him to be a myth. And I mean you to come and help me,
Ralph; he's quite in your way. A bit of natural history, I suppose,
although he seems by all accounts to be a very unnatural monster. And
Jack shall go too--I'm resolved on that; and we three shall roam the
wild woods again, as we did in days of yore, and--"
"Hold, Peterkin," said I, interrupting. "How do you know that Jack will
go?"
"How do I know? Intuitively, of course. I shall write to him to-night;
the post does not leave till ten. He'll get it to-morrow at breakfast,
and will catch the forenoon coach, which will bring him down here by two
o'clock, and then we'll begin our preparations at once, and talk the
matter over at dinner. So you see it's all cut and dry. Give me a
sheet of paper and I'll write at once. Ah! here's a bit; now a pen.
Bless me, Ralph, haven't you got a quill? Who ever heard of a
philosophical naturalist writing with steel. Now, then, here
goes:--`B'luv'd Jack,'--will that do to begin with, eh? I'm afraid it's
too affectionate; he'll think it's from a lady friend. But it can't be
altered,--`Here I am, and here's Ralph--Ralph Rover!!!!!! think of
that,' (I say, Ralph, I've put six marks of admiration there); `I've
found him out. Do come to see us. Excruciatingly important business.
Ever thine--Peterkin Gay.' Will that bring him, d'ye think?"
"I think it will," said I, laughing.
"Then off with it, Ralph," cried my volatile friend, jumping up and
looking hastily round for the bell-rope. Not being able to find it, my
bell-pull being an unobtrusive knob and not a rope, he rushed to the
door, unlocked it, darted out, and uttered a tremendous roar, which was
followed by a clatter and a scream from old Agnes, whom he had upset and
tumbled over.
It was curious to note the sudden change that took place in Peterkin's
face, voice, and manner, as he lifted the poor old woman, who was very
thin and light, in his arms, and carrying her into the room, placed her
in my easy-chair. Real anxiety was depicted in his countenance, and he
set her down with a degree of care and tenderness that quite amazed me.
I was myself very much alarmed at first.
"My poor dear old _woman_," said Peterkin, supporting my landlady's
head; "my stupid haste I fear you are hurt."
"Hech! it's nae hurt--it's deed I am, fair deed; killed be a
whaumlskamerin' young blagyird. Oh, ma puir heed!"
The manner and tone in which this was said convinced me that old Agnes
was more frightened than injured. In a few minutes the soothing tones
and kind manner of my friend had such an effect upon her that she
declared she was better, and believed after all that she was only a "wee
bit frichtened." Nay, so completely was she conciliated, that she
insisted on conveying the note to the post-office, despite Peterkin's
assurance that he would not hear of it. Finally she hobbled out of the
room with the letter in her hand.
It is interesting to note how that, in most of the affairs of humanity,
things turn out very different, often totally different, from what we
had expected or imagined. During the remainder of that evening Peterkin
and I talked frequently and much of our old friend Jack Martin. We
recalled his manly yet youthful countenance, his bold, lion-like
courage, his broad shoulders and winning gentle smile, and although we
knew that six years must have made an immense difference in his personal
appearance--for he was not much more than eighteen when we last parted--
we could not think of him except as a hearty, strapping sailor-boy. We
planned, too, how we would meet him at the coach; how we would stand
aside in the crowd until he began to look about for us in surprise, and
then one of us would step forward and ask if he wished to be directed to
any particular part of the town, and so lead him on and talk to him as a
stranger for some time before revealing who we were. And much more to
the same effect. But when next day came our plans and our conceptions
were utterly upset.
A little before two we sauntered down to the coach-office, and waited
impatiently for nearly twenty minutes. Of course the coach was late; it
always is on such occasions.
"Suppose he does not come," said I.
"What a fellow you are," cried Peterkin, "to make uncomfortable
suppositions! Let us rather suppose that he does come."
"Oh, then, it would be all right; but if he does not come, what then?"
"Why, then, it would be all wrong, and we should have to return home and
eat our dinner in the sulks, that's all."
As my companion spoke we observed the coach come sweeping round the turn
of the road about half a mile distant. In a few seconds it dashed into
the town at full gallop, and finally drew up abruptly opposite the door
of the inn, where were assembled the usual group of hostlers and waiters
and people who expected friends by the coach.
"He's not there," whispered Peterkin, in deep disappointment--"at least
he's not on the outside, and Jack would never travel inside of a coach
even in bad weather, much less in fine. That's not him on the back-seat
beside the fat old woman with the blue bundle, surely! It's very like
him, but too young, much too young. There's a great giant of a man on
the box-seat with a beard like a grenadier's shako, and a stout old
gentleman behind him with gold spectacles. That's all, except two boys
farther aft, and three ladies in the cabin. Oh, _what_ a bore!"
Although deeply disappointed at the non-arrival of Jack, I could with
difficulty refrain from smiling at the rueful and woe-begone countenance
of my poor companion. It was evident that he could not bear
disappointment with equanimity, and I was on the point of offering some
consolatory remarks, when my attention was attracted by the little old
woman with the blue bundle, who went up to the gigantic man with the
black beard, and in the gentlest possible tone of voice asked if he
could direct her to the white house.
"No, madam," replied the big man hastily; "I'm a stranger here."
The little old woman was startled by his abrupt answer. "Deary me, sir,
no offence, I hope."
She then turned to Peterkin and put the same question, possibly under a
vague sort of impression that if a gigantic frame betokened a gruff
nature, diminutive stature must necessarily imply extreme amiability.
If so, she must have been much surprised as well as disappointed, for
Peterkin, rendered irascible by disappointment, turned short round and
said sharply, "Why, madam, how can _I_ tell you where the white house
is, unless you say which white house you want? Half the houses of the
town are white--at least they're _dirty_ white," he added bitterly, as
he turned away.
"I think I can direct you, ma'am," said I, stepping quickly up with a
bland smile, in order to counteract, if possible, my companion's
rudeness.
"Thank you, sir, kindly," said the little old woman; "I'm glad to find
_some_ little civility in the town."
"Come with me, ma'am; I am going past the white house, and will show you
the way."
"And pray, sir," said the big stranger, stepping up to me as I was about
to move away, "can you recommend me to a good hotel?"
I replied that I could; that there was one in the immediate vicinity of
the white house, and that if he would accompany me I would show him the
way. All this I did purposely in a very affable and obliging tone and
manner; for I hold that example is infinitely better than precept, and
always endeavour, if possible, to overcome evil with good. I offered my
arm to the old woman, who thanked me and took it.
"What!" whispered Peterkin, "you don't mean me to take this great ugly
gorilla in tow?"
"Of course," replied I, laughing, as I led the way.
Immediately I entered into conversation with my companion, and I heard
"the gorilla" attempt to do so with Peterkin; but from the few sharp
cross replies that reached my ear, I became aware that he was
unsuccessful. In the course of a few minutes, however, he appeared to
have overcome his companion's ill-humour, for I overheard their voices
growing louder and more animated as they walked behind me.
Suddenly I heard a shout, and turning hastily round, observed Peterkin
struggling in the arms of the gorilla! Amazed beyond measure at the
sight, and firmly persuaded that a cowardly assault had been made upon
my friend, I seized the old woman's umbrella, as the only available
weapon, and flew to the rescue.
"Jack, my boy! can it be possible?" gasped Peterkin.
"I believe it is," replied Jack, laughing.--"Ralph, my dear old fellow,
how are you?"