"I beg your pardon," I interposed, glad of the opportunity to
correct and humiliate him, "but that was not one of the
Proverbs of Solomon."

"Who said it was?" asked the Grand Mogul, savagely.

"Nobody; but you thought it was when she said it," answered his
antagonist, coolly.

"And whose proverb is it, my Lady Superior?"

"It is in Ecclesiastes," I said.

"Well, Ecclesiastes is next door to Solomon. It's all one."
Halicarnassus can creep through the smallest knot-hole of any
man of his size it has ever been my lot to meet, provided there
is anything on the other side he wishes to get at. If there
is not, and especially if anything is there which he wishes to
shun, a four hundred and fifty pounder cannot crash a hole
large enough for you to push him through. By such a pitiful
chink as that did his Infallible Highness wriggle himself out
of the range of my guns, and pursue his line of remark.

"But I really cannot say that I have been able to detect the
excessive superiority of Solomon's proverbs. If it were not
for the name of it, I think Sancho Panza's much better."

"Taisez-vous. Hold your tongue," I said, without mitigation.
If there is anything I cannot away with, it is trivial
apostasy. I tolerate latitudinarianism when it is hereditary.