pon me to
take the affidavit. Ripley and whisky, I was informed, were always
associated together,--were almost synonymous terms,--and whenever "Joe"
struck town it was a gala day for the saloons. In abnormal condition,
Mr. Ripley was a mild-mannered, polite, well-educated son of old
England. But my hopes that he might appear in the latter condition were
blasted when, in response to a shuffling and a bang at the door, I
welcomed in a small man with white mustache, wearing the native coat or
"parkie," and gloriously, triumphantly _full_! There was no doubt that
this was Ripley--recipient of the Victoria cross for gallantry in India,
sailor, miner, squaw-man, and devotee of the bottle. "Where's Castle?"
was his opening remark, of course not knowing me from Adam; and, as I
explained my presence, I racked my brain for delicate, unoffending
language which should suggest that he sleep "it" off and call again on
the morrow. The suggestion of delay brought forth a flow of noble
sentiments, delivered in heroic attitude, accompanied by gestures
dramatic. Pointing down the river, he burst forth in glowing language on
the subject of the devoted spouse whom he longed to see, somewhat
inconsistently declaiming, however, that the lady was twice as big as he
and usually shook the life out of him whenever he tacked home with
several sheets in the wind. I eagerly seized upon this latter tribute to
his charmer's charms as an argument for his remaining over, but realized
that it was useless to argue when, with emphatic "No, no's", and a
beating of his breast, he exclaimed: "Old Joe has a very small heart for
white people, but" (stretching forth his arms in yearning affection
toward the beloved) "his heart goes out to _her_ like a bullock's." This
was all very romantic and entertaining, but that affidavit had to be
obtained, and Captain John Smith, somehow, had to be prevented from
escaping to his Pocahontas. Excusing myself with the explanation that I
would consult my client in the matter, I went on a still hunt for the
man who might manage Ripley, and the latter, navigating his way toward
the nearest saloon, went on a hunt for the still. I found my man,
explained the situation, and instructed him, if impossible to detain
Ripley, to steer him back to the office, where we should proceed with
the ceremonies. Captain John having previously, when sober, told our
client the facts to which he could swear, I purposed having these facts
act as a che