me--and these French bagmen _do_ know something about eating and
drinking. That's how it happened. One of them started chaffing us
about the _ordinaire_ we were drinking--quite a respectable tap, by
the way. He had heard that Englishmen drank only the strongest wine,
and drank it in any quantities. Then another said: 'Ah, messieurs,
if you would drink for the honour of England, _justement_ you should
match yourselves here in this town against the famous Mont-Bazillac.'
'What is this Mont-Bazillac?' we asked: and they told us--well,
pretty much what you told me just now--adding, however, that the
landlord kept a few precious bottles of it. They were quite fair in
their warnings."

"Which, of course, you disregarded."

"For the honour of England. We rang for the landlord--a decent
fellow, Sebillot by name--and at first, I may tell you, he wasn't at
all keen on producing the stuff; kept protesting that he had but a
small half-dozen left, that his daughter was to be married in the
autumn, and he had meant to keep it for the wedding banquet.
However, the bagmen helping, we persuaded him to bring up two
bottles. A frantic price it was, too--frantic for _us_.
Seven francs a bottle."

"It was four francs fifty even in my time."

"The two bottles were opened. Jinks took his, and I took mine.
We had each _arrosed_ the dinner with about a pint of Bordeaux;
nothing to count. We looked at each other straight. I said, 'Be a
man, Jinks! _A votre sante messieurs!_' and we started. . . . As you
said just now, it's a most innocent-tasting wine."