So I
commenced eating the chop, which was by this time nearly cold.
After eating a few morsels I looked at the sherry: "I may as well
take a glass," said I. So with a wry face I poured myself out a
glass.
"What detestable stuff!" said I, after I had drunk it. "However,
as I shall have to pay for it I may as well go through with it."
So I poured myself out another glass, and by the time I had
finished the chop I had finished the sherry also.
And now what was I to do next? Why, my best advice seemed to be to
pay my bill and depart. But I had promised the poet to patronize
his house, and had by mistake ordered and despatched a pint and
chop in a house which was not the poet's. Should I now go to his
house and order a pint and chop there? Decidedly not! I had
patronised a house which I believed to be the poet's; if I
patronised the wrong one, the fault was his, not mine - he should
have been more explicit. I had performed my promise, at least in
intention.
Perfectly satisfied with the conclusion I had come to, I rang the
bell. "The bill?" said I to the handmaid.
"Here it is!" said she, placing a strip of paper in my hand.
