"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.