“Aha, aha,” said Father Jost, wiping his little spectacles. “I know, I know, the atheist. They are a lot of infidels at the University. And you’re another, Mr. Brych.”

“Come, his Reverence will pray for us, I know,” said Mr. Binder. “He’ll want us in heaven to make up the card-party. Well, your Reverence, two and one?”

“Yes, of course, two and one.”

Mr. Binder opened the kitchen door and shouted:

“Two liver sausages and one blood-sausage.”

“‘Evening!” growled Rejzek, the journalist, entering the room. “It’s cold, friends.”

“It’s a very pleasant evening,” chirped Mr. Binder. “We don’t get company like this every day.”

“Well, what’s the news?” inquired Father Jost gaily. “What’s going on in the editorial sanctum? Ah, yes, I used to write for the papers myself in my young days.”

“By the way, that fellow Blahous mentioned me in the paper too that time,” said Mr. Brych. “I’ve still got the cutting somewhere: ‘The Apostle of Kuzenda’s Sect,’ or something like that, he called me. Yes, yes, those were the days!”

“Let’s have supper,” ordered Mr. Rejzek. Mr. Binder and his daughter were already setting sausages on the table. They were still sizzling, covered with frothing bubbles of fat, and they reclined upon crisp sauerkraut like Turkish odalisques on cushions. Father Jost clicked his tongue resoundingly and cut into the first beauty before him.

“Splendid,” said Mr. Brych after a while.

“Mhm,” came from Mr. Rejzek after a lengthier interval.

“Binder, these do you credit,” said the Canon approvingly.

A silence ensued, full of appreciation and pious meditations.

“Allspice,” contributed Mr. Brych. “I love the smell of it.”

“But it mustn’t be too much in evidence.”

“No, this is just as it should be.”

“And the skin must be just crisp enough.”

“Mhm.” And again conversation ceased for a space.

“And the sauerkraut must be nice and white.”

“In Moravia,” said Mr. Brych, “they make the sauerkraut like a sort of porridge. I was there as an apprentice. It’s quite runny.”

“Oh, come,” exclaimed Father Jost. “Sauerkraut has to be strained. Don’t talk such nonsense. Why, the stuff wouldn’t be fit to eat.”

“Well, there you are . . . they do eat it that way down there. With spoons.”

“Horrible!” cried the Canon, marvelling. “What extraordinary people they must be, friends! Why, sauerkraut should only just be greased, shouldn’t it, Mr. Binder? I don’t understand how anyone could have it any other way.”

“Well, you know,” said Mr. Brych meditatively, “it’s just the same with sauerkraut as it is with religion. One man can’t understand how another can believe anything different.”

“Oh, enough of that!” protested Father Jost. “Why, I’d sooner believe in Mahomet than eat sauerkraut made any other way. After all, reason teaches one that sauerkraut ought only to be greased.”

“And don’t reason teach one one’s religion.”