"
"Anyone may serve as a toast," said another; "but could a bishop be good
company under any circumstances, think you?"
"Gad! why not?" asked Gentleman Jack. "He'd Spend his time trying to
square his profession with his conscience maybe, and when a man is
reduced to that, bishop or no bishop, there's humour enough, I warrant."
The health was drunk with laughter, and the air of depression which had
followed the landlady's recital disappeared like clouds from an April
sky. Each one had some story to tell, some item to add to the
accumulated glory of the road.
"Ay, it's a merry life," said the man who had had doubts about the
bishop's company, "and the only drawback is that it comes to an end when
you're at the top of your success. The dealers in blood-money never hunt
a man down until he's worth his full price."
"And isn't that the best time to take the last ride?" exclaimed
Gentleman Jack. "Who would choose to grow old and be forgotten? What
should we do sitting stiffly in an armchair, wearing slippers because
boots hurt our poor swollen feet? What should we be without a pair of
legs strong enough to grip the saddle or with eyes too dim to recognise
a pretty woman, lacking fire to fall in love, and with lips which had
lost their zest for kissing?"
"But we come to that last ride before we lack anything--that's the
trouble," was the answer.
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