The boys were in the vortex of a partridge-pie when Adrian strolled in to them.  They had now changed characters.  Richard was uproarious.  He drank a health with every glass; his cheeks were flushed and his eyes brilliant.  Ripton looked very much like a rogue on the tremble of detection, but his honest hunger and the partridge-pie shielded him awhile from Adrian’s scrutinizing glance.  Adrian saw there was matter for study, if it were only on Master Ripton’s betraying nose, and sat down to hear and mark.

“Good sport, gentlemen, I trust to hear?” he began his quiet banter, and provoked a loud peal of laughter from Richard.

“Ha, ha!  I say, Rip:  ‘Havin’ good sport, gentlemen, are ye?’ You remember the farmer!  Your health, parson!  We haven’t had our sport yet.  We’re going to have some first-rate sport.  Oh, well! we haven’t much show of birds.  We shot for pleasure, and returned them to the proprietors.  You’re fond of game, parson!  Ripton is a dead shot in what Cousin Austin calls the Kingdom of ‘would-have-done’ and ’might-have-been.’  Up went the birds, and cries Rip, ‘I’ve forgotten to load!’ Oh, ho!—­Rip! some more claret.—­Do just leave that nose of yours alone.—­ Your health, Ripton Thompson!  The birds hadn’t the decency to wait for him, and so, parson, it’s their fault, and not Rip’s, you haven’t a dozen brace at your feet.  What have you been doing at home, Cousin Rady?”

“Playing Hamlet, in the absence of the Prince of Denmark.  The day without you, my dear boy, must be dull, you know.”

   “’He speaks:  can I trust what he says is sincere? 
     There’s an edge to his smile that cuts much like a sneer.’

“Sandoe’s poems!  You know the couplet, Mr. Rady.  Why shouldn’t I quote Sandoe?  You know you like him, Rady.  But, if you’ve missed me, I’m sorry.  Rip and I have had a beautiful day.  We’ve made new acquaintances.  We’ve seen the world.  I’m the monkey that has seen the world, and I’m going to tell you all about it.  First, there’s a gentleman who takes a rifle for a fowling-piece.  Next, there’s a farmer who warns everybody, gentleman and beggar, off his premises.  Next, there’s a tinker and a ploughman, who think that God is always fighting with the devil which shall command the kingdoms of the earth.  The tinker’s for God, and the ploughman”—­

“I’ll drink your health, Ricky,” said Adrian, interrupting.

“Oh, I forgot, parson;—­I mean no harm, Adrian.  I’m only telling what I’ve heard.”

“No harm, my dear boy,” returned Adrian.  “I’m perfectly aware that Zoroaster is not dead.  You have been listening to a common creed.  Drink the Fire-worshippers, if you will.”

“Here’s to Zoroaster, then!” cried Richard.  “I say, Rippy! we’ll drink the Fire-worshippers to-night won’t we?”

A fearful conspiratorial frown, that would not have disgraced Guido Fawkes, was darted back from the, plastic features of Master Ripton.