Galloping Dick
“Curse me!” says I, “let us put it at that, then. The cold is peaking my bowels into a very respectable appetite.”
The Bishop dusted the snuff from his apron and fell back into his lounge. “You press me too hard,” said he, reproachfully. “I am not of so young a blood to take these sharp turns with you;” and he eyed me as if inviting speech.
“The Devil!” I retorted warmly. “I will fasten myself upon no man’s hospitality. ’Twas of your own notion.”
“An offer,” he explained smoothly, “upon a fitting occasion.”
“Well,” says I, laughing, “what occasion will better this?”
The Bishop considered me coldly. “I am to dine,” he observed, “with my Lord Petersham, who celebrates to-night the marriage of the Lady Mary.”
I laughed again. “And you with a broken coach, my lord!” I cried.
The Bishop reflected. “It is true,” he replied, “that I am in some difficulty, but my
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