Either he knows more about it than any one else, or he has got better wine of his own even than the excellent wine he is now drinking.

Men can get together sometimes without talking of women, without talking of horses, without talking of politics, but they cannot assemble to eat a meal together without talking of wine, and they cannot talk of wine without assuming to each one of themselves an absolute infallibility in connection with that single subject which they would shrink from asserting in relation to any other topic under the sun.
How long the inevitable wine-talk lasted on the particular social occasion of which I am now writing is more than I can undertake to say.
I had heard so many other conversations of the same sort at so many other tables that my attention wandered away wearily, and I began to forget all about the dull little dinner-party and the badly-assorted company of guests of whom I formed one.

How long I remained in this not over-courteous condition of mental oblivion is more than I can tell; but when my attention was recalled, in due course of time, to the little world around me, I found that the good wine had begun to do its good office.
The stream of talk on either side of the host's chair was now beginning to flow cheerfully and continuously; the wine-conversation had worn itself out; and one of the elder guests--Mr.Wendell--was occupied in telling the other guest--Mr.Trowbridge--of a small fraud which had lately been committed on him by a clerk in his employment.

The first part of the story I missed altogether.

The last part, which alone caught my attention, followed the career of the clerk to the dock of the Old Bailey.
"So, as I was telling you," continued Mr.Wendell, "I made up my mind to prosecute, and I did prosecute.