"Well, well! you're no lover of poetry, that's very evident; but the story is there. Yes, yes; and Burton has a version of it, too, in his Anatomy. How does it go? Give my head a minute to clear, and I'll tell you. Ha! I have it! It was something like this: There was a certain young gentleman of Rome who, on his wedding-day, went out to play tennis; and in the tennis-court was a brass statue of the goddess Venus——"
("Mine ought to be brass, from her goings on," thought Leander.)
"And while he played he took off his finger-ring and put it upon the statue's hand; a mighty foolish act, as you will agree."
"Ah!" said Leander, shaking his head; "you may say that! What next, sir?" He became excited to find that he really was on the right track at last.
"Why, when the game was over, and he came to get his ring, he found he couldn't get it off again. Ha! ha!" and the old man chuckled softly, and then relapsed once more into silence.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Freemoult, sir! I'm a-listening; it's very funny; only do go on!"
"Go on? Where was I? Hadn't I finished? Ah, to be sure! Well, so Paris gave her the apple, you see."
"I didn't understand you to allude to no apple," said his puzzled hearer; "and it was at Rome, I thought, not Paris. Bring your mind more to it, sir; we'd got to the ring not coming off the statue."
"I know, sir; I know. My mind's clear enough, let me tell you. That very night (as I was about to say, if you'd had patience to hear me) Venus stepped in and parted the unfortunate pair——"
"It was a apple just now, you aggravating old muddle 'ed!" said Leander, internally.