The Bishop’s black beard foamed downward upon the desk like a gloomy cataract.  Quimbleton for a moment was almost abashed, and regretted that he had not thought to whitewash his own dingy thicket.

Bishop Chuff’s piercing and cruel gaze stabbed all three.  He ignored Theodolinda with contempt.  His disdain was so complete that (as the unhappy girl said afterward) he seemed more like a younger brother than a father.  There were no chairs:  they were forced to stand.  In a small mirror fastened to the edge of his desk the sneering potentate could note the dial-reading of the instrument without turning.  He watched the reflected needle flicker and come to rest.

“So, Mr. Quimbleton,” he said, in a harsh and untuned voice, “You come comparatively sober.  Strange that you should choose to be unintoxicated when you face the greatest ordeal of your life.”

The savage irony of this angered Quimbleton.

“One touch of liquor makes the whole world kin,” he said.  “I assure you I have no desire to claim kinship with your bitter and intolerant soul.”

“Ah?” said the Bishop, with mock politeness.  “You relieve me greatly.  I had thought you desired to claim me as father-in-law.”

“Oh, Parent!” cried Theodolinda; “How can you be so cruel?  Sarcasm is such a low form of humor.”

“I am not trying to be humorous,” said the Bishop grimly.  “You, who were once the apple of my eye, are now only an apple of discord.  You, whom I considered such a promising child, are now a breach of promise.  You have sucked my blood.  You are a Vampire.”

“The Vampire on whom the sun never sets,” whispered Quimbleton to the terrified girl, encouraging her as she shrank against him.

“This is no time for jest,” said the Bishop angrily.  “You said you had a matter of vital import to lay before me.  Make haste.  And remember that you are here only on sufferance.  I shall be pitiless.  I shall scourge the evil principle you represent from the face of the earth.”

“We do not fear your threats,” said Quimbleton stoutly.  “We are not alarmed by your frown.”

He was, greatly, but he was sparring for time to put his thoughts in order.  He started to say “Uneasy lies the head that wears a frown,” which was an aphorism of his own he thought highly of, but Theodolinda checked him.  She knew that her father detested puns.  It was perhaps his only virtue.

“Bishop Chuff,” said Quimbleton, “perhaps you are not aware of the strength and tenacity of the sentiment we represent.  I assure you that if you underestimate the power of the millions of thirsty mouths that speak through us, you will rue the consequences.  Trouble is brewing—­”

“Neither trouble, nor anything else, is brewing nowadays,” said the terrible Bishop.

Theodolinda saw that Quimbleton was losing ground by his incorrigible habit of talking before he said anything.  She broke in impetuously, and explained the plan for the Perpetual Souse.  Her father listened to the end with his cold, forbidding gaze, while the sensitive needle of the recording instrument on the mantel danced and wagged in agitation.