“Ye couldn’t be in a worse place if all accounts be true,” said Krake, with a grin. “Come, don’t keep all the grapes to yourself; let us taste them.”
“Ay, let us taste them,” said Karlsefin, advancing and plucking a bunch from Tyrker’s shoulders.
The others did the same, tasted them, and pronounced the fruit excellent.
“Now, lads, we will make the strong drink from the grapes,” said Tyrker. “I don’t know quite how to do it, but we will soon find out.”
“That you certainly shall not if I can prevent it,” said Karlsefin firmly.
Tyrker looked a little surprised, and asked why not.
“Because if the effect of eating grapes is so powerful, drinking the strong drink of the grape must be dangerous. Why do you wish to make it?”
“Why? because—because—it does make one so happy.”
“You told us just now,” returned Karlsefin, “that you were as happy as you could be, did you not? You cannot be happier than that—therefore, according to your own showing, Tyrker, there is no need of strong drink.”
“That’s for you,” whispered Krake to Tyrker, with a wink, as he poked him in the side. “Go to sleep upon that advice, man, and it’ll do ye good—if it don’t do ye harm!”