He pro­ceeded to talk very coolly, how­ever, say­ing he knew that I sup­posed him in­tox­i­cated, but that he was never more sober in his life. He was only tired, he added, of ly­ing in bed on such a fine night like a dog, and was de­ter­mined to get up and dress, and go out on a frolic with the boat. I can hardly tell what pos­sessed me, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth than I felt a thrill of the great­est ex­cite­ment and plea­sure, and thought his mad idea one of the most de­light­ful and most rea­son­able things in the world.