“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.

Richard gave his lungs loud play.

“Why, what did you say about Blaizes, Rippy?  Didn’t you say it was fun?”

Another hideous and silencing frown was Ripton’s answer.  Adrian matched the innocent youths, and knew that there was talking under the table.  “See,” thought he, “this boy has tasted his first scraggy morsel of life today, and already he talks like an old stager, and has, if I mistake not, been acting too.  My respected chief,” he apostrophized Sir Austin, “combustibles are only the more dangerous for compression.  This boy will be ravenous for Earth when he is let loose, and very soon make his share of it look as foolish as yonder game-pie!”—­a prophecy Adrian kept to himself.

Uncle Algernon shambled in to see his nephew before the supper was finished, and his more genial presence brought out a little of the plot.

“Look here, uncle!” said Richard.  “Would you let a churlish old brute of a farmer strike you without making him suffer for it?”

“I fancy I should return the compliment, my lad,” replied his uncle.

“Of course you would!  So would I. And he shall suffer for it.”  The boy looked savage, and his uncle patted him down.

“I’ve boxed his son; I’ll box him,” said Richard, shouting for more wine.

“What, boy!  Is it old Blaize has been putting you up!”

“Never mind, uncle!” The boy nodded mysteriously.

‘Look there!’ Adrian read on Ripton’s face, he says ‘never mind,’ and lets it out!

“Did we beat to-day, uncle?”

“Yes, boy; and we’d beat them any day they bowl fair.  I’d beat them on one leg.  There’s only Watkins and Featherdene among them worth a farthing.”