Galloping Dick
“For a guest to rum-pad his host!” I urged. “’Tis beyond all manners.”
“Faith, I am so new to the trade that you must pardon me if I am blind to these delicate distinctions,” says the Bishop, chuckling.
“Come,” I remonstrated, “this jest is after all in ill season. Put down that pistol.”
“The thought came into my head of a sudden,” mused the Bishop. “Indeed, it was of your own inspiration.”
“An’ you do not,” I cried angrily; “the Devil take me but I will shortly blast your ugly head from off your shoulders.”
“And ’twas well I took lessons from so excellent a master as yourself,” returned the Bishop unperturbed. “It had been disastrous to have mistook the barrel.”
“Well,” says I sulkily, “if you will act with this gross dishonour, pray, what terms are you pleased to make?”
“Why, here is reason,” says the Bishop smiling, “and a very proper spirit of contrition. And, for the night does not mend and my bones are old, I will not keep you longer.
40
