Of the Bishop’s Quandary
us, Ryder, to cast up the blessings of our homes, and they are uncommon fine in titillating an appetite,” he ended, with a chuckle.
“And a thirst, by your lordship’s leave,” I added, addressing myself to the wine.
The Bishop’s eyes followed the dusty flask, and lingered upon it with thoughtfulness. “We will have another,” said I, promptly, rising to my feet.
“Another?” said the Bishop dubiously.
“Why, yes, another,” I repeated, with decision, “I am no sand-bed, but I am no stop-the-bottle, neither.”
“Well, then, another,” assented the Bishop, with a sigh.
When I took my seat again, the Bishop was contemplating me with some curiosity. “You have a wife, Ryder?” he asked.
“I have as good,” I answered, “and as pretty a doxy as lives this side of London. Here’s to her health,” says I.
The Bishop took out his snuff-box, and, tapping it very carefully, “I do not know,” said he, “if there be any sufficient authority
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