As if performing some mysterious ceremony, Mr Bokes made the cork of a port-wine bottle “skreel” as he tortured it by forcing in a screw, and then brought it forth with a loud “fop,” holding it out, wet and blood-stained—grape—for the senior Gunterian to sniff at, and afterwards to the lieutenant, when the following solemn dialogue took place:—
“Twenty!” whispered Mr Bokes, solemnly.
“Twenty!” exclaimed the Gunterians, in duet.
“Twenty!” repeated Mr Bokes, with additional solemnity; and then he added, “Five bin.”
Speech ceased for a few moments, while Mr Bokes armed his guests with large claret-glasses, afterwards tenderly pouring forth the deep-hued generous mixture.
“Seeing as you’re both gentlemen,” said Mr Bokes, confidentially, “as goes into the best of society, I thought I should like to hear your opinions.”
“But you’ll join us?” said Gunter One to the speaker.
“Well, raylly, gentlemen,” hesitated Mr Bokes.
Gunter One set down his glass and pursed up his mouth, looking at Gunter Two, who also set down his untasted glass, folded his arms, and looked fiercely at the butler.
“Well, raylly, gentlemen,” said Mr Bokes, “if that’s it, I suppose I must;” and helping himself to a glass, the three took wine together, after the most approved fashion, but perhaps with an additional dignity.