h-Mightiness I will take a drop." So they began to
drink and treat at the same time; and to encourage their guests, the
senators and the doctor and the burgomaster went a little further than
usual with the Ruedesheimer. At each new bottle the strangers excused
themselves, assuring the burgomaster that it was beginning to get into
their heads; which of course delighted him immensely: and at last said
the burgomaster, "now for bishnesh." But as the "bishnesh" went on, the
burgomaster went to sleep while he was defining the word neutrality,
and Doctor Redpepper lay already under the table: then the other
senators came and went on with the negotiations and the drinking; but
the captain, who kept five men running backwards and forwards filling
his glass for him, drank them all under the table.

'All--but one. Mr. Senator Walther was a man of whom ugly tales would
infallibly have been told, if he had not been Mr. Senator. He was a man
who had raised himself from a humble position in his craft-guild to be
an alderman, and then to his present place. He was a very tall bony
man. He alone now held out with the two guests, and put away twice as
much as both of them. Moreover, he seemed as sensible as ever, whereas
Tosspot was beginning to feel as if a wheel were going round in his
head. But the curious thing was this, that when Walther drank a glass
Balthasar fancied that he saw a thin blue mist rise and exude from his
black hair. These two, however, drank bravely on till Tosspot dropped
peacefully to sleep with his head pillowed against the burgomaster's
arm.

'Then said the Senator to the Secretary, "My dear fellow, you drink
wonderfully well, but I fancy you are more familiar with the bridle
than the pen." Balthasar attempted some bluster about his Majesty's
Embassy, but the other replied with a terrible laugh, "Ho, ho? and do
secretaries in your country always wear such clothes and carry such
pens?" Then the groom looked at his dress and saw with alarm that he
had on his ordinary stable coat and had a curry comb in his hand. Bluer
than ever looked the mist about Walther's head as he tossed off another
quart. "Heaven forbid, sir," said poor Balthasar, "that I should drink
with you any longer. I see you are a magician."

"True," said the man, "but we needn't go into that, most honourable
horse-combing secretary; the point of the thing as far as you are
concerned is, that it is no use your trying to drink me under the
table, f