Galloping Dick
his belly. “And now,” says he, “a little grace, Ryder, will come convenient ’twixt you and me. We must e’en consecrate a feast derived one knows not whence.”
He spoke so smooth and with so gentle a sarcasm that I should have been a sorry knave to have taken any offence out of his words. Indeed, I had no disposition now to look upon anything save with humour, and the phrase was pat enough in all knowledge.
“If your reverence,” says I, “cannot muster prayers for both, why I’ll make shift to furbish up a tag for myself.”
“’Tis part of our episcopal duty,” he returned, “to take charge of these small courtesies to our Maker.” And with that, having muttered a scrap or so—which did well enough for me, God knows!—he whipped up a knife and fell on the victuals.
There was a fulness about his hunger which was much to my mind. The fire roared behind him, and the room was very pleasantly filled with warmth and perfume. I cannot bring to mind that we spoke much or of consequence
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