'Yes, yes, yes. But what,' said Augustine, soothingly, 'are a few orphreys between friends? Reflect! You and our worthy vicar here were at school together. You are bound by the sacred ties of the old Alma Mater. With him you sported on the green. With him you shared a crib and threw inked darts in the hour supposed to be devoted to the study of French. Do these things mean nothing to you? Do these memories touch no chord?' He turned appealingly from one to the other. 'Vicar! Bish!'
The vicar had moved away and was wiping his eyes. The bishop fumbled for a pocket-handkerchief. There was a silence.
'Sorry, Pieface,' said the bishop, in a choking voice.
'Shouldn't have spoken as I did, Boko,' mumbled the vicar.
'If you want to know what I think,' said the bishop, 'you are right in attributing your indisposition at the house supper to something wrong with the turkey. I recollect saying at the time that the bird should never have been served in such a condition.'
'And when you put that white mouse in the French master's desk,' said the vicar, 'you performed one of the noblest services to humanity of which there is any record. They ought to have made you a bishop on the spot.'
'Pieface!'
'Boko!'
The two men clasped hands.
'Splendid!' said Augustine. 'Everything hotsy-totsy now?'