"Here he is now," said Cugel. "He is examining the shutter with an air of perplexity."

"I see no point in carrying the matter any further," said Bunderwal. "So far as I am concerned, the game is ended."

"Except for the adjudication," said Cugel. "I am clearly the winner, from almost any point of view."

Bunderwal could not be swayed. "Krasnark wore no cap, and there the matter must rest. Let me suggest another test, in which chance plays a more decisive role."

"Here is the boy with our beer, at last. Boy, you are remarkably slow!"

"Sorry, sir. Krasnark fell into the still-room and caused no end of tumult."

"Very well; no more need be said. Bunderwal, explain your game."

"It is so simple as to be embarrassing. The door yonder leads out to the urinal. Look about the room; select a champion. I will do likewise. Whichever champion is last to patronize the urinal wins the game for his sponsor."

"The contest seems fair," said Cugel. "Have you selected a champion?"

"I have indeed. And you?"

"I selected my man on the instant. I believe him to be invincible in a contest of this sort. He is the somewhat elderly man with the thin nose and the pursy mouth sitting directly to my left. He is not large but I am made confident by the abstemious manner in which he holds his glass."

"He is a good choice," Bunderwal admitted. "By coincidence I have selected his companion, the gentleman in the gray robe who sips his beer as if with distaste."

Cugel summoned the serving boy and spoke behind his hand, out of Bunderwal's hearing. "The two gentlemen to my left — why do they drink so slowly?"

The boy shrugged. "If you want the truth, they hate to part with their coin, although both command ample funds. Still, they sit by the hour nursing a gill of our most acrid brew."

"In that case," said Cugel, "bring the gentleman in the gray cloak a double-quart of your best ale, at my expense, but do not identify me."

"Very good, sir."

The boy turned at a signal from Bunderwal who also initiated a short muttered conversation. The boy bowed and ran down to the still-room. Presently he returned to serve the two champions large double-quart mugs of ale, which, after explanation from the boy, they accepted with gloomy good grace, though clearly they were mystified by the bounty.

Cugel became dissatisfied at the fervent manner in which his champion now drank beer. "I fear that I made a poor selection," he fretted. "He drinks as if he had just come in after a day in the desert."

Bunderwal was equally critical of his own champion. "He is already nose-deep in the double-quart. That trick of yours, Cugel, if I must say so, was definitely underhanded. I was forced to protect my own interests, at considerable expense."

Cugel thought, by conversation, to distract his champion from the beer. He leaned over and said: "Sir, you are a resident of Saskervoy, I take it?"