Do this; and
you and your money will be safe. Do this; and to-morrow you will
thank an old soldier for giving you a word of honest advice."
Just as the ex-brave ended his oration in very lachrymose tones,
the coffee came in, ready poured out in two cups. My attentive
friend handed me one of the cups with a bow. I was parched with
thirst, and drank it off at a draught. Almost instantly
afterwards, I was seized with a fit of giddiness, and felt more
completely intoxicated than ever. The room whirled round and
round furiously; the old soldier seemed to be regularly bobbing
up and down before me like the piston of a steam-engine. I was
half deafened by a violent singing in my ears; a feeling of utter
bewilderment, helplessness, idiocy, overcame me. I rose from my
chair, holding on by the table to keep my balance; and stammered
out that I felt dreadfully unwell--so unwell that I did not know
how I was to get home.
"My dear friend," answered the old soldier--and even his voice
seemed to be bobbing up and down as he spoke--"my dear friend, it
would be madness to go home in _your_ state; you would be sure to
lose your money; you might be robbed and murdered with the
greatest ease. _I_ am going to sleep here; do _you_ sleep here,
too--they make up capital beds in this house--take one; sleep off
the effects of the wine, and go home safely with your winnings
to-morrow--to-morrow, in broad daylight.
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