"Ah! my lord, you may do without it, maybe, at Exeter, but up at this height we must drink or perish of dulness."
Then he helped himself to a stiff glass, and relapsed into silence. Presently the Bishop said—
"You keep hounds, I hear."
"No, my lord, the hounds keep me."
"I do not understand."
"Well, then, you must be mighty stupid. They stock my larder with hares. You don't suppose I should have hares on my table unless they were caught for me. There's no butcher for miles and miles, and I can't get a joint but once in a fortnight maybe; what should I do without rabbits and hares? Forced to eat 'em, and they must be caught to be eaten."
"Mr. Chowne," said Henry of Exeter, "I've been told that you have men in here with you drinking and fighting."
"It's a lie. I admit that they drink,—every man drinks since he was a baby,—but fight in my dining-room! No, my lord! Directly they begin to fight I take 'em by the scruff of the neck, and turn them out into the churchyard, and let 'em fight out their difference among the tombs."
"I am sorry to say, Mr. Chowne, that I have heard some very queer and unsatisfactory tales concerning you."