The joke about the Burgundy was as follows. Once when the young Consul
had crept in among the bottles, to look for something very particular,
he managed to knock his head against one which lay in the rack above so
hard that it broke, and the whole bottle of Burgundy ran down his neck.
Every time any allusion was made to this mishap, a meaning smile passed
between the brothers, and Richard was even so careless as sometimes to
allude to it when others were present. For instance, if they were
sitting at dinner, and the conversation turned upon red wines, he would
say, "Well, my brother has his own peculiar way of drinking Burgundy;"
and then would follow a series of mysterious allusions and laughter
between the two, which usually ended in a fit of coughing.

The young people had several times tried to get at this joke about the
Burgundy, but always in vain. Miss Cordsen, who had been obliged that
day to get a clean shirt for the Consul, was the only one in the secret;
but Miss Cordsen could hold her tongue about more serious matters than
that.

At last the Consul came out again, laughing and sputtering, his
waistcoat covered with dust, and his hair full of cobwebs. When they had
had a good laugh over their joke--it was well the walls were so
thick--Richard, on whom the duty always devolved, uncorked the first
bottle with the greatest care and skill.

"H'm! h'm!" said the Consul, "that is a curious bouquet."

"I declare, the wine has gone off," said Richard, spluttering.

"Bah! right you are, Dick," said Christian Frederick, spluttering in his
turn.