Of the Bishop’s Quandary
for the first ten minutes. But somewhere about the third course (an extremely well jugged hare), and when for my own part the edge of my appetite was blunting, I looked up and met the Bishop’s eye, which was fixed upon me meditatively. He raised his glass and sipped of the claret slowly; set it down upon the table; and pinching up his eyes the while, stared thoughtfully from it to me and from me to it again.
“Of a cold hard night, Ryder,” said he, picking out his words, “a warm soft wine lines a stomach gratefully. We oppose opposites in the meetest sense; and, to take my own poor judgment, the frankest advice, if it be for the common comfort, consists with the most polite and sacred usages of society. This wine?” He paused and inquired of me in silence.
I brought my fist with a thump upon the board. “Sink me for a scurvy worthless loon,” said I angrily, for I was in a blush of shame to have played so evil a trick on him. I took a draught myself, and plumped down
21
