Of the Bishop’s Quandary
another, so do I speak to you. And now, if there be any toast your lordship may be nursing in his desires, do not smother it up,” said I, “but unwrap it and show it forth, and I will drink it, though it should be to the topsman himself.”
“I am under infinite obligations for the favour, Ryder,” said the Bishop, bowing at me, “but I fear I have no one for this honour.”
“Come,” I protested, “roll ’em all in your mind, my lord, and turn ’em over on your tongue. I’ll warrant there’s a pretty woman somewhere at the back.”
The Bishop seemed to consider, and shook his head gravely. “It appears, Ryder,” said he, “that you are too sanguine. We will leave the tribute where it stands.”
“Then,” I exclaimed, “sure, we will drink without it.” And I pushed over the flask.
The Bishop daintily filled his glass with his fat fingers, and we drank once more. His stomach merged over the table: it ranged collateral with the wine, and tickled me with the notion of some great vat beside the empty
27
