“You are quite right,” my uncle said; “but all these persons are serving our projects without guessing it.”
I felt inclined to tell him he was talking a pack of nonsense.
It was, however, indeed a sight to see my uncle when he had a Freemason to dinner.
On meeting they shook hands in a manner that was irresistibly funny; one could see that they were going through a series of secret, mysterious signs.
Then my uncle would take his friend into a corner to tell him something important, and at dinner they had a peculiar way of looking at each other, and of drinking to each other, in a manner as if to say: “We know all about it, don't we?”
And to think that there are millions on the face of the globe who are amused at such monkey tricks! I would sooner be a Jesuit.
Now, in our town there really was an old Jesuit who was my uncle's detestation. Every time he met him, or if he only saw him at a distance, he used to say: “Get away, you toad.” And then, taking my arm, he would whisper to me:
“See here, that fellow will play me a trick some day or other, I feel sure of it.”
My uncle spoke quite truly, and this was how it happened, and through my fault.
It was close on Holy Week, and my uncle made up his mind to give a dinner on Good Friday, a real dinner, with his favorite chitterlings and black puddings. I resisted as much as I could, and said: