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Updated: May 10, 2025
"You'll be sorry to hear that Whitehall is not very well," said Turpey. "Dr. Munro thought it would be better that he should not come down." "In fact, I have ordered him to bed," said I. "Then I move that Mr. Turpey be called upon to act as host," said one of the new comers; and so it was at once agreed. Presently the other men arrived; but there was no sign of the dinner.
"On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you will give me a clear answer to my questions." "Well, I've had a good day and no mistake," said the cabman with a grin. "What was it you wanted to ask, sir?" "First of all your name and address, in case I want you again." "John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out of Shipley's Yard, near Waterloo Station."
"On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you will give me a clear answer to my questions." "Well, I've had a good day and no mistake," said the cabman, with a grin. "What was it you wanted to ask, sir?" "First of all your name and address, in case I want you again." "John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out of Shipley's Yard, near Waterloo Station."
Another quarter of an hour passed, and we were all ravenous. It was evident that Whitehall had made some mistake. We began to roll our eyes towards the apple pie, as the boat's crew does towards the boy in the stories of shipwreck. A large hairy man, with an anchor tattooed upon his hand, rose and set the pie in front of Turpey. "What d'you say, gentlemen, shall I serve it out?"
All our shakes and shouts could not break in upon that serene drunkenness. "What are we to do?" gasped Turpey. "We must not let him make an exhibition of himself. We had better get him away before any one else arrives." So we bore him off, all in coils and curves like a dead python, and deposited him upon his bed. When we returned three other guests had arrived.
Munro, sir," said he earnestly. It's the relaxing air of this town. But I'll go home and lie I'll down, and be as fresh as paint to welcome my guests." But the excitement of the impending event must have been too much for him. When I arrived at five minutes to seven, Turpey, the wounded lieutenant, met me in the hall with a face of ill omen. "It's all up with Whitehall," said he.
He introduced me to two other men, one of them a singular-looking creature named Turpey, who was struggling along upon a wound-pension, having, when only a senior midshipman, lost the sight of one eye and the use of one arm through the injuries he received at some unpronounceable Pah in the Maori war.
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