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 faceI mean to go a-hunting inbut I forgot. You dont know that Im a hunter, a somewhat famous hunter?
Of course I dont. 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 Ive corresponded with Jack ever since we parted on the pier at Dover.
What! JackJack 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, hes 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 dont 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! aabout my being a celebrated hunter. A very Nimrodat least a miniature copy. Well, Ralph, since we last met I have been all over the world, right round and round it. Im a lieutenant in the navy nowat least I was a week ago. Ive 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, youve no notion where all Ive been. Its a perfect marvel Ive turned up here alive. But theres one beast Ive not yet seen, and Im 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 Ive given it up. Im 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 Im independent, like you, Ralph, only Ive got three or four thousand a year instead of hundreds, I believe; but Im not sure and dont careand Im 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, Illha! wont I!
Get where, and see what?
Get to Africa and see the gorilla! cried Peterkin, while a glow of enthusiasm lighted up his eyes. Youve heard of the gorilla, Ralph, of coursethe great apethe enormous puggythe huge baboonthe man monkey, that weve 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? Im determined to shoot a gorilla, or prove him to be a myth. And I mean you to come and help me, Ralph; hes 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 tooIm 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. Hell get it to-morrow at breakfast, and will catch the forenoon coach, which will bring him down here by two oclock, and then well begin our preparations at once, and talk the matter over at dinner. So you see its all cut and dry. Give me a sheet of paper and Ill write at once. Ah! heres a bit; now a pen. Bless me, Ralph, havent you got a quill? Who ever heard of a philosophical naturalist writing with steel. Now, then, here goes: Bluvd Jack,will that do to begin with, eh? Im afraid its too affectionate; hell think its from a lady friend. But it cant be altered,Here I am, and heres RalphRalph Rover!!!!!! think of that, (I say, Ralph, Ive put six marks of admiration there); Ive found him out. Do come to see us. Excruciatingly important business. Ever thinePeterkin Gay. Will that bring him, dye 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 Peterkins 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 landladys head; my stupid haste I fear you are hurt.
Hech! its nae hurtits 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 Peterkins assurance that he would not hear of it. Finally she hobbled out of the room with the letter in her hand.