row fat, you rogue--on the word of a Cecil!' Oh, trust me, Master
Droop; my lord much affects my conversation!"

"Is that a fact?" said Droop, admiringly. "It certainly ain't done your
conversation any harm to be affected that way."

"Oh, then, an you jest, Master----"

"Not a mite!" exclaimed Copernicus, anxiously. "Verily, nay, friend.
Trust me--never!"

"Or never trust thee!" quoth the knight, with a twinkle in his eye.

Droop took refuge in his wine, and Sir Percevall imitating him, the two
emptied their cups together and sighed with a simultaneous content.

"That's not bad swizzle," said Droop, patronizingly. "But, as fer me,
give me whiskey every time!"

"Whiskey!" said the knight with interest. "Nay, methought I knew every
vintage and brew, each label and brand from Rhine to the Canaries. But
this name, Master Droop, I own I never heard. Whiskey, say you?"

"Well, now, do tell!" said Droop, drawing forth his flask of
nineteenth-century rye, "never heerd o' whiskey, eh? Never tasted it,
either, I s'pose?"

"How should I taste it, man, not knowing its very name?"

"Verily, thou sayest sooth!" said Droop. Then, glancing all about him:
"Ain't there any smaller glasses 'round here?"

"Drawer--ho, drawer, I say!" roared the knight.

"Here, sir--here! What is your pleasure?"

"The pleasure is to come, rogue! Fetch hither two of yon scurvy glass
thimbles you wot of. Hostess calls them cordial glasses. Haste now!
Scramble, varlet!"

When the two small glasses were brought, Droop uncorked his flask and
poured each full to the brim.

"Th' ain't any seltzer in this one-hoss town," he said, "so I can't make
ye a high-ball. We'll jest hev to drink it straight, Sir Knight. Here's
luck! Drink hearty!" and with a jerk of hand and head he tossed the
spirits down his throat at a gulp and smacked his lips as he set down
his glass.

Sir Percevall followed his friend's movements with a careful eye and
imitated him as exactly as possible, but he did not escape a coughing
fit, from which he emerged with a purple face and tear-filled eyes.

"Have another?" said Droop, cheerfully.

"A plague on queezy gullets!" growled the knight. "Your spirits sought
two ways at once, Master Droop, and like any other half-minded equivocal
transaction, contention was the outcome. But for the whiskey, mind
you--why, it hath won old Sir Percevall's heart. Zounds, man! Scarce two
fingers of it, and yet I feel the wanton laugh in me a're