A CONVERSATION BETWIXT THE AUTHOR AND HIS BOSOM FRIEND, JOHN TICKLE,
ESQ.
However, it was not my fate to die in good earnest. By-and-by I opened
my eyes, feeling in very passable health, though somewhat weak and
dejected.
The devils, or my late attendants, whoever they were, had all vanished,
and with them noise, darkness, and the various ill odours that had
afflicted my nostrils. I was lying in a very good bed, and chamber with
curtained windows, the curtains being closed, to keep out the sunshine
that was playing on them; and at my side there sat in an arm-chair a
young gentleman of a buckish appearance, sound asleep. The creaking
of the bed, as I rose on my elbow, roused him; he started, rubbed his
eyes, and, looking me in the face, burst into a hearty laugh.
"Bravo!" he cried; "I told old Boneset so! I could watch as comfortably
as ever a child's nurse of Messina. I thought I should have the child
wake me with crying! I vow to gad, I've been snoozing all night. And so
you've opened your peepers like an honest man at last, Dawky!--Pray,
what the devil made you drown yourself?"
And here the young gentleman, seizing me by the hand, fell a laughing
again, and that with more zest than before.
"Sah!" said I, looking at him with both surprise and confusion; for,
though his voice and face seemed familiar to me, I could not for the
life of me say who he was. "Sa--ah, really I--ah--" and here I stopped;
for, first, I knew not what to say, and secondly, my bewildered looks
set him into such a roar of merriment, that there was no saying a word
to him.
"Come, you dog," said he, with a grin here and a roar there, "don't be
comical just after coming out of the grave. A man just fished out of a
river, and rescued from death after a hard fight between the doctor and
the devil, should be serious and ecclesiastical, solemn of visage, and
sanctified of conversation. No joking, you dog; but get up, Absalomize,
and talk. No joking, I say; no joking with Jack Tickle."
As he spoke he seized me by the shoulder, and dragged me half out of
bed.
"Ged and demmee!" said I, "remember my foot!" For my toe catching in
the bed-cord, I suddenly recollected the gouty member.
"I will," said he, with another roar; "for, the Lord knows, 'tis the
best part of you. Spoil Dawky's foot, and ruin him with women and
shoe-makers for ever! The one ceases to adore, and the other trusts no
longer."
"But I mean the gout," said I.
"The fiddlestick and fiddle!" said he: "whoever heard of a poor dandy,
living on tick, having the gout? Up, Dawky, my dog, and tell me what
set you to drowning? If 'twas about Betty Small, 'twas a small matter.
What! drown for being jilted! If 'twas about the tailor's bill, 'twas
still more ridiculous. I say, Dawky, my fellow, _what_ made you drown
yourself?"
"Drown myself!" said I; but I said it with a stare. The odd behaviour
and expressions of the young gentleman, who called himself Jack Tickle
(a name that I never remembered to have heard before in my life,
although his countenance was certainly highly familiar), and certain
queer associations his appearance gave birth to; the singularity of
my feelings; and, more than all, the appearance of my foot and leg
(the former of which, instead of being tumid and red with gout, was
white, and of elegant shape, while the latter, which but the day before
had a calf to compare with any old Quaker's in Arch-street, was now
as lank as a sword-blade); I say, these circumstances had the effect
to increase my confusion to that degree, that I felt like one who is
asleep and knows it--provided one ever did or can feel so.
In the midst of all I suddenly cast my eyes upon a goodly large
looking-glass that hung against the wall, and saw my reflection
therein. It was the image of Mr. I. Dulmer Dawkins! his exact
representation, perfect in beard and visage, save that the former was
in great disorder, and the latter somewhat white, and equally perfect
in figure, as far as I could compare a man in buff and linen to one in
the full panoply of the tailor.
"My ged!" said I, "I am transformed again!"
And with that I made a hop up to the glass to look at myself closer.
There was no mistaking the matter, even if the looking-glass had. I
looked at my legs, and I gave a tweak at my mustaches. My shoulders
were elegantly narrow, and my foot as sound as a savage's. I jumped up,
cut a pigeon-wing, and then, descending, attempted a ballet-dancer's
pirouette; after which I looked again into the glass. I was a young man
of twenty-five, and the most elegant fellow I ever laid eyes on!
I ran to Jack, and hugged him round the neck, crying, "Lard, Jack, you
rogue, I'm the most comical creature that ever lived!"
"Ay," said he, smothering with laughter and my embraces together; "but
what made you drown yourself?"
I recollected all about it, and suddenly felt astonished. I remembered
how I had jumped into the water, and how I had fished myself out, as
dead as a poker; that is, how Mr. Higginson had fished me, or rather
how I had fished Mr. Dawkins. I remembered how I, John Hazlewood
Higginson, had wished to be Mr. I. Dulmer Dawkins, and now I was Mr. I.
Dulmer Dawkins himself, and nobody but he. I sat down on the bedside,
marvelling how such a thing could be; and the wonder of it was indeed
amazing. That my spirit should creep into a man's body, though strange
enough, was not so prodigiously surprising; but that my spirit and
body together (for I did not know it had been otherwise disposed of),
especially so corpulent a one as John H. Higginson's, should get into
one--that was truly marvellous.
But my study was brought to an end by Tickle suddenly exclaiming, with
a voice of concern, "Curse him! gad, poor fellow, I believe he has
washed his wits out! He has gone mad!"
"No more than you have," said I, shaking him by the hand; "but you must
allow it is a most extraordinary affair."
"'Pon honour, yes," said he, laughing as hard as ever; "but what made
you throw yourself into the river?"
"Why," said I, in a hurry, "to save Dawkins."
"To save Dawkins!!!" said he, looking at me as one would look at a
shoemaker who brings a pair of shoes home the day he has promised them.
"That is," said I, "to save Higginson."
"To save Higginson!!!" he cried, with such a roar of laughter as made
my teeth rattle; "why there were twenty people saw Higginson drag _you_
out! I say, Dawky, no lillibullering--what did you jump into the river
for?"
"I jumped," said I, quite in a quandary, "after my hat."
At this answer my friend Jack Tickle threw himself upon the bed, where
he rolled over and over, until his coat was covered with down and
feathers, which cooled his transports a little.
"I see," said he, "I see! It was the last of the family; for hatters'
tick was exhausted! Right, Dawky; in such straits of credit, I think I
should have jumped after mine! Who would not fight, roast, or drown,
for his hat, when it was the last decent one he ever expected to
have on his head? I am glad _this_ was the cause: it makes me think
better of you. I thought, like the rest, it was on account of your
disappointment from the adorable Betty--"
"The devil take Betty!" said I, but without well knowing why.
"He _has!_" cried Jack, uproariously; "at least a _poor_ devil has.
She has thrown away her seventy thousand upon a fellow no more to be
compared with you than a tame goose with a wild one: and instead of
spending it like a man, the rascal will buy stocks, and save it. I
say, Dawky, you must have been surprised at her conduct--as we all
were;--really, we thought you had her; and there was no one more
certain than the fair Miss Smith."
"The devil take the fair Miss Smith!" said I.
"He will," said Tickle, shaking his head and laughing; "or, if _he_
don't, I don't know who will; for it is a clear matter--dad's done up
entirely, and they say the sheriff is already making an inventory of
his chattels. A great pity, Dawky; for, if she had but money, Miss
Smith would be certainly an angel incarnate--a nymph, a houri--the
finest woman in town. I say, Dawky, I think she almost had you!"