"What are you making such a noise about, Blade?" inquired the Colonel of his regiment, good-naturedly.
"Nothing, Colonel," said Blade. "No noise. But here is a man who has the audacity, in our own mess-house, to asperse the character of our Madeira." And, taking up the Senior Captain's own bottle, and holding it before the Senior Captain's face, he exclaimed,—looking at the Colonel, "He positively refuses to taste it, even."
"Nonsense," said the cavalry Colonel, approaching them with a serious air, and with an empty glass in his hand. "Nonsense! Do you really mean to say that our Madeira is not good—excellent?"
"No, Colonel," said the Senior Captain of the Royal Infantry regiment.
"Taste it, and say what you think of it, Colonel," said Blade, filling the Colonel's glass, which was held up to receive the liquid, with a willingness which imparted some mirth to the beholders. "Taste it. There."
"I have tasted it," said the Colonel, "and pronounce it to be the best I ever drank in my life, and, in my judgment, infinitely superior to that of any other mess."
"So I say," said Blade, filling his glass; "but the misfortune is, he won't believe me."
"Order a fresh bottle of our wine for him, Blade," said the Colonel, "and let him taste the top of it."
"No, thank you, Colonel," said the Senior Captain; "I would rather not. Remember, I have to conclude my examination."
"Ah, so you have," said the Colonel, moving away. "But take my word for it, that better Madeira than ours was never grown or bottled."