Chapter 17 The True Literary Giant

In the tavern, the dining table was adorned with beer mugs, a few sausages, and some notes and coins aside from them.

Arthur and Eld's faces were hidden in the shadows that the kerosene lamp couldn't reach.

Each of them was holding two cards in their hands; Arthur looked down at his hand, and he had a pair of fives.

Eld also glanced at his cards, then pushed all of his chips on the table forward.

"I'm all in."

Arthur chuckled, "Eld, you haven't gone mad from losing, have you? If you lose this hand, you won't even have the money to ride a carriage home."

Eld tapped on the table impatiently, "Worst comes to worst, I'll just swim back from the Thames River. I'm only a Royal Navy cartographer, but after all, I make my living at sea, and I can handle a bit of swimming. Don't you worry about me, Arthur, are you in or not?"

Arthur didn't say anything; he just glanced behind Eld.

The Red Devil Agares was standing there, laughing maniacally, his tongue even lolling out.

"Arthur, that kid is bluffing, he has only a pair of threes! Let's go with it, today we must strip him of his pants!"

But upon hearing this, Arthur didn't take Agares' advice; instead, he threw his cards onto the table.

He said, "Eld, you win; I fold. You overwhelmed me with your presence."

When Eld heard Arthur fold, he agonizingly grabbed his head, grey-faced as he slumped over the table.

"Damn it, Arthur! Weren't you following along the whole time? Why did you back out this time? It took me ages to finally get a big hand."

Eld spread out his hand, revealing that he was holding a pair of kings.

Agares pretended to be shocked, covering his mouth, and lied, "The lighting here is really too dim, how could I mistake a pair of kings for a pair of threes?"

Arthur just pursed his lips and smiled.

He had known all along that the devil wouldn't be so kind.

The reason Agares had been leaking Eld's hand to him was to win Arthur's trust, so he could lose big on the last wave.

It was an old trick of the Red Devil's, and Arthur was well-versed in it.

Looking at Eld, who was visibly frustrated, Arthur told him, "Give it up, Eld. You're just not cut out for cards; you wear what you have in your hand all over your face. Take the money on the table and let's call it a day; we were just playing for fun, not for keeps."

"Oh! Arthur, are you serious?"

A sparkle appeared in Eld's eyes.

Seeing him dawdle, Arthur reached out to collect the money on the table.

But as soon as Arthur's hand extended, Eld swept the notes off the table like a whirlwind.

Of course, he left Arthur with five pennies, which was Arthur's original stake.

"Arthur, you've always been generous. Today's drink and meal are on me; let's have a proper drink to celebrate your escape from the damned Scotland Yard! Come on, to a wonderful new life, let's drink up!"

Eld picked up his beer mug and clinked it mightily against Arthur's.

There was a few muffled 'thuds' as a pint of beer traveled down his bobbing adam's apple and into his belly.

However, on Arthur's side, he struggled to swallow even half before he couldn't anymore.

He had already been forced by Eld to drink four large mugs, and now he was really at his limit.

Holding his stomach, he waved his hand, "Eld, do you folks who make a living on ships always drink so much?"

Eld roared with laughter, "Of course. At sea, liquor is a fine thing. First off, spirits keep well; freshwater might get contaminated, but liquor never will.

Secondly, if any crew member gets hurt, the alcohol can be used to disinfect; it also helps us fight off diseases and keep warm, you might not realize how cold it can get in certain places at sea.

The most important thing is, life at sea is incredibly monotonous; facing the same unchanging seascape, the same routine, and the same smelly bunch of lads for months, even a year at a time.

Only liquor can bring us temporary joy, make us forget our troubles, and numb ourselves for a while."

"Oh, Arthur, you don't know, if it weren't for alcohol, us folks adrift on the sea simply couldn't survive!"

"I've even heard that some old sailors never drink water in their life, they just live on alcohol."

Arthur, holding his dizzy head, asked, "Sounds like a tough life. Haven't you ever thought about finding a decent job on land? After all, you're not like me, you have many more connections."

"Of course I've thought about it. But before I return to land, I need to drift at sea for a few years. Once I've accumulated some experience, my uncle can find an opportunity to transfer me to the Navy Department to do some clerical work.

Arthur, you can do the same. Or you could start by working on ships for a couple of years, waiting for a good opportunity, and then return to land. Although the economy wasn't booming when we graduated, haven't you noticed it's slowly getting better now?

Now it seems like they are planning to build railways everywhere, and the docks in London are being expanded. Once they're finished, you could find a job with a railway or shipping company.

With your Royal Navy experience, it would be much easier to find a job later. You might even become a university professor. After all, you could rival Shelley and Byron, couldn't you?"

Arthur waved his hand; he was really drunk, "Cut it out, Eld. Don't flatter me. I'm just a small-time policeman from Scotland Yard, and a dismissed one at that. Have you ever seen Byron or Shelley being police officers? They're the ones cursing the police."

No sooner had Arthur finished speaking than a mild inquiry came from nearby.

"Officer Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

Arthur squinted and turned to look, seeing a somewhat familiar young man.

"I think I know you. You..." Arthur rubbed his head, "You seem to have been a clerk in the courts, right? I've seen you a few times."

The clerk replied with surprise and delight, "I can't believe you actually remember me, that's wonderful. I never expected to run into you at lunch. I just finished my news manuscript and was hoping you could take a look at it for me."

Arthur grinned, leaning so much he was about to slip off his chair, "I don't understand literature; you should have the gentleman across from me take a look. He's a brilliant student of classical literature, even though he's from the University of London."

Eld had also had quite a bit to drink, and he responded with a swagger upon hearing this.

"No, no, no, you should really have Officer Arthur take a look. He could rival Shelley and Byron, even if he's from Scotland Yard."

The courtroom clerk couldn't help but laugh and cry at the same time, knowing that both drunkards were not in their right mind.

Nevertheless, he still passed the rainswept manuscript over to Arthur.

Since the other party had elevated him so, drunkard Arthur was not too shy to critique it.

He took the manuscript and, without a second thought, began to read it aloud in the tavern.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.

It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity.

It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness.

It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

We had everything before us, we had nothing before us.

We were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period."

As Arthur read this, the drunken haze in his brain suddenly jolted.

He felt that these lines were somehow familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had seen them.

The clerk, hearing this, turned red with embarrassment and hurriedly interjected, "Mr. Arthur, that's the last paragraph; you should start with the beginning."

"Ah, my mistake."

Arthur's drunkenness slowly began to fade, and he looked up at the title of the article.

"The Strongest Voice from Scotland Yard—Recording Britain's Finest Policeman, Officer Arthur Hastings"

Author: Charles Dickens