“Hello, Jake. Hello!” Mike called. “Come here. I want you to meet my friends. We’re all having an hors-d’œuvre.”
I was introduced to the people at the table. They supplied their names to Mike and sent for a fork for me.
“Stop eating their dinner, Michael,” Brett shouted from the wine-barrels.
“I don’t want to eat up your meal,” I said when some one handed me a fork.
“Eat,” he said. “What do you think it’s here for?”
I unscrewed the nozzle of the big wine-bottle and handed it around. Every one took a drink, tipping the wine-skin at arm’s length.
Outside, above the singing, we could hear the music of the procession going by.
“Isn’t that the procession?” Mike asked.
“Nada,” some one said. “It’s nothing. Drink up. Lift the bottle.”
“Where did they find you?” I asked Mike.