Zoroaster is not dead. You have been listening to a common creed. Drink
the Fire-worshippers, if you will."

"Here's to Zoroaster, then!" cried Richard. "I say, Rippy! we'll drink
the Fire-worshippers to-night won't we?"

A fearful conspiratorial frown, that would not have disgraced Guido
Fawkes, was darted back from the, plastic features of Master Ripton.

Richard gave his lungs loud play.

"Why, what did you say about Blaizes, Rippy? Didn't you say it was fun?"

Another hideous and silencing frown was Ripton's answer. Adrian matched
the innocent youths, and knew that there was talking under the table.
"See," thought he, "this boy has tasted his first scraggy morsel of life
today, and already he talks like an old stager, and has, if I mistake
not, been acting too. My respected chief," he apostrophized Sir Austin,
"combustibles are only the more dangerous for compression. This boy will
be ravenous for Earth when he is let loose, and very soon make his share
of it look as foolish as yonder game-pie!"--a prophecy Adrian kept to
himself.

Uncle Algernon shambled in to see his nephew before the supper was
finished, and his more genial presence brought out a little of the plot.

"Look here, uncle!" said Richard. "Would you let a churlish old brute of
a farmer strike you without making him suffer for it?"

"I fancy I should return the compliment, my lad," replied his uncle.