e resting. Here, you may lighten mine a bit if it will improve your disposition. “
Everyone laughed once more and Pontack pretended to be outrageously affronted.
“Now See here, Swift, that is most egregiously unfair—”
“Egregiously?” Swift interrupted, raising his bushy eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Egregiously?” He glanced at Addison and Steele. “He has been reading your modest little journal, hasn’t he? Egregiously, my buttocks!”
This elicited another burst of laughter as Pontack sputtered and turned red in the face. Addison and Steele merely smiled at one another, thinking that the incident might indeed make for an amusing bit of reportage in their paper. And it would serve Pontack right for raising the prices on his claret. Only the dapper young man who stood at the edge of the crowd seemed unamused. His expression remained alert and somber.
“Say what you will, Swift,” Pontack said, “but I cannot have this … this sort of person lying about senseless on my tables as if this were some seaman’s tavern! You brought him, now you must get him out of here. Take him outside and let him sleep it off in an alleyway somewhere, where his sort belongs. “
“His sort?” said Swift, with an edge in his voice. “This man is a surgeon, Pontack, a learned physician. ‘His sort,’ as you so disingenuously put it, keeps you and your establishment in business. Under other circumstances, you’d be fawning over him like the servile dog you are, because he represents the medical profession, yet because he is in tattered clothing and drunk to numb the pain of his ordeal, you so harshly and unfairly—yes, even to the point of being egregious—judge a poor unfortunate survivor of a terrible shipwreck, who has gone through God only knows what manner of hardship. If it were not for me, you would throw this poor man into an alleyway like so much human refuse. Shame, Pontack! May you never find yourself in such a pitiable condition, lest you should encounter someone with as lime heart as you.”
“Hear, hear!” said someone in the crowd, and others joined in with similar supporting comments.
“He actually did that all in one breath, didn’t he?” Steele said in an aside to Addision.
“Mmmm.” Addison murmured. “You ought to hear him when he really gets his wind up.”
“Oh, very well,” Pontack said, relenting as he saw that the prevailing opinion stood against him. “But can’t you at least prop him up and wipe his chin or something? Tidy him up a bit, can’t you?”
“No, I shan’t,” said Swift. “Dr. Gulliver should not, even in his unfortunate condition, stay a moment longer where his presence is not wanted. We shall take our leave and dine elsewhere.”
This elicited a storm of protest, though Swift showed no sign of leaving.
“Perhaps, sir, I could offer a small compromise,” said the fair-haired young man, stepping forward. “Surely Dr. Gulliver would be more comfortable sleeping it off—uh, taking his ease in a coach rather than atop a hard wooden table or in a refuse-strewn alleyway. I would be pleased to let him rest a while in mine. “
“You, sir, are a gentleman,” said Swift, rising to his feet to shake the young man’s hand. “May I have the honor of knowing your name?”
“Steiger,” said the fair-haired young man. “Alexander Steiger, at your service, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Steiger, it is a genuine pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Swift. “Allow me to buy you drink?”
“Thank you, that would be most kind,” said Steiger. “I will join you as soon as I have seen to the comfort of your friend. Perhaps one of these gentlemen would be so kind as to assist me?”
A man stepped forward and together they took the unconscious Gulliver and lifted him up, holding his arms across their shoulders. They took him outside, dragging him along to Steiger’s coach. The driver jumped down and opened the door, then moved to help Steiger with Gulliver, laying him out upon the cushioned seat.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Steiger said to the man who’d helped him. “Please tell Mr. Swift that I will merely see to this man’s comfort and then I will be back inside directly.”
Steiger watched the man go back inside, then he turned to the driver and said, “Threadneedle Street, quickly.” He got inside the coach and the driver whipped up the horses. The coachman drove quickly to Steiger’s rooms in Threadneedle Street, and by the time they arrived, Dr. Gulliver had come around, though he was still groggy and hungover.
“What… where am I? Who are you?”
“A friend,” said Steiger, helping him inside and up the stairs. “A friend who believes your story, Dr. Gulliver.”
“You…. you believe me?” Gulliver said, astonished.
“Yes,” said Steiger, helping him into the bedroom and easing him down onto the bed. “Yes, I believe you. Here, lie down. Rest a moment.”
He went over to his desk, sat down and started writing quickly.
“Wh—What are you doing?” Gulliver said.
“I’m making out a report,” said Steiger, writing furiously. “A report?” said Gulliver, frowning.
“Never mind, I’ll explain later. I want to make certain that I have all this written down, and then I’m going to read it back to you and I want you to tell me if I’ve got it all right. Are you sober enough to do that?”
“I ...” Gulliver sat up in bed, felt suddenly dizzy, leaned back and closed his eyes. “I am not very sober, I’m afraid, but I think I can manage. “