At Cugel’s signal the serving boy brought full mugs of Tatterblass beer and both he and Bunderwal refreshed themselves. After a few moments Bunderwal said: “Despite our best efforts, we still have not settled our little problem.”

“And why? Because contests of this sort abandon all to chance! As such, they are incompatible with my personal temperament. I am not one to crouch passively with my hind-quarters raised, awaiting either the kick or the caress of Destiny! I am Cugel! Fearless and indomitable, I confront every adversity! Through the force of sheer will I —”

Bunderwal made an impatient gesture. “Silence, Cugel! I have heard enough of your braggadocio. You have taken too much beer, and I believe you to be drunk.”

Cugel stared at Bunderwal in disbelief. “Drunk? On three draughts of this pallid Tatterblass? I have swallowed rain-water of greater force. Boy! Bring more beer! Bunderwal, what of you?”

“I will join you, with pleasure. Now then, since you reject a further test, are you willing, then, to concede defeat?”

“Never! Let us drink beer, quart for quart, while we dance the double coppola! The first to fall flat is the loser.”

Bunderwal shook his head. “Our capacities are both noble and the stuff of which myths are made. We might dance all night, to a state of mutual exhaustion and enrich only Krasnark.”

“Well then: do you have a better idea?”

“I do indeed! If you will glance to your left, you will see that both Chernitz and his friend are dozing. Notice how their beards jut out! Here is a swange for cutting kelp. Cut off one beard or the other, and I concede you victory.”

Cugel looked askance toward the dozing men. “They are not soundly asleep. I challenge Destiny, yes, but I do not leap off cliffs.”

“Very well,” said Bunderwal. “Give me the swange. If I cut a beard, then you must allow me the victory.”

The serving-boy brought fresh beer. Cugel drank a deep and thoughtful draught. He said in a subdued voice: “The feat is not as easy as it might appear. Suppose I decided upon Chernitz. He need only open his eyes and say: ‘Cugel, why are you cutting my beard?’ Whereupon, I would suffer whatever penalty the law of Saskervoy prescribes for this offense.”

“The same applies to me,” said Bunderwal. “But I have carried my thinking a step farther. Consider this: could either Chernitz or the other see your face, or my face, if the lights were out?”

“If the lights were out, the project becomes feasible,” said Cugel. “Three steps across the floor, seizure of the beard, a strike of the swange, three steps back and the deed is done, and yonder I see the valve which controls the lucifer.”

“This is my own thinking,” said Bunderwal. “Well then: who will make the trial, you or I? The choice is yours.”

The better to order his faculties, Cugel took a long draught of beer. “Let me feel the swange … It is adequately sharp. Well then, a job of this sort must be done while the mood is on one.”

“I will control the lucifer valve,” said Bunderwal. “As soon as the lights go out, leap to the business at hand.”

“Wait,” said Cugel. “I must select a beard. That of Chernitz is tempting, but the other projects at a better angle. Ah … Very well; I am ready.”

Bunderwal rose to his feet and sauntered to the valve. He looked toward Cugel and nodded.

Cugel prepared himself.

The lights went out. The room was dark but for the glimmer of firelight. Cugel strode on long legs across the floor, seized his chosen beard and skillfully wielded the swange … For an instant the valve slipped in Bunderwal’s grip, or perhaps a bubble of lucifer remained in the tubes. In any event, for a fraction of a second the lights flashed bright and the now beardless gentleman, staring up in startlement, looked for a frozen instant eye to eye with Cugel. Then the lights once more went out, and the gentleman was left with the image of a dark long-nosed visage with lank black hair hanging from under a stylish hat.

The gentleman cried out in confusion: “Ho! Krasnark! Rascals and knaves are on us! Where is my beard?”

One of the serving boys, groping through the dark, turned the valve and light once more emanated from the lamps.

Krasnark, bandage askew, rushed forth to investigate the confusion. The beardless gentleman pointed to Cugel, now leaning back in his chair with mug in hand, as if somnolent. “There sits the rogue! I saw him as he cut my beard, grinning like a wolf!”

Cugel called out: “He is raving; pay no heed! I sat here steadfast as a rock while the beard was being cut. This man is the worse for drink.”

“Not so! With both my eyes I saw you!”

Cugel spoke in long-suffering tones. “Why should I take your beard? Does it have value? Search me if you choose! You will find not a hair!”

Krasnark said in a puzzled voice: “Cugel’s remarks are logical! Why, after all, should he cut your beard?”

The gentleman, now purple with rage, cried out: “Why should anyone cut my beard? Someone did so; look for yourself!”

Krasnark shook his head and turned away. “It is beyond my imagination! Boy, bring Master Mercantides a mug of good Tatterblass at no charge, to soothe his nerves.”

Cugel turned to Bunderwal. “The deed is done.”

“The deed has been done, and well,” said Bunderwal generously. “The victory is yours! Tomorrow at noon we shall go together to the offices of Soldinck and Mercantides, where I will recommend you for the post of supercargo.”

“‘Mercantides’,” mused Cugel. “Was not that the name by which Krasnark addressed the gentleman whose beard I just cut?”

“Now that you mention it, I believe that he did so indeed,” said Bunderwal.

Across the room Wagmund gave a great yawn. “I have had enough excitement for one evening! I am both tired and torpid. My feet are warm and my boots are dry; it is time I departed. First, my boots.”

At noon Cugel met Bunderwal in the plaza. They proceeded to the offices of Soldinck and Mercantides, and entered the outer office.

Diffin the clerk ushered them into the presence of Soldinck, who indicated a couch of maroon plush. “Please be seated. Mercantides will be with us shortly and then we will take up our business.”

Five minutes later Mercantides entered the room. Looking neither right nor left he joined Soldinck at the octagonal table. Then, looking up, he noticed Cugel and Bunderwal. He spoke sharply: “What are you two doing here?”

Cugel spoke in a careful voice: “Yesterday Bunderwal and I applied for the post of supercargo aboard the Galante. Bunderwal has withdrawn his application; therefore —”

Mercantides thrust his head forward. “Cugel, your application is rejected, on several grounds. Bunderwal, can you reconsider your decision?”

“Certainly, if Cugel is no longer under consideration.”

“He is not. You are hereby appointed to the position. Soldinck, do you endorse my decision?”

“I am well-pleased with Bunderwal’s credentials.”

“Then that is all there is to it,” said Mercantides. “Soldinck, I have a head-ache. If you need me, I will be at home.”

Mercantides departed the room, almost as Wagmund entered, supporting the weight of his right foot on a crutch.

Soldinck looked him up and down. “Well then, Wagmund? What has happened to you?”

“Sir, I suffered an accident last night. I regret that I cannot make this next voyage aboard the Galante.”

Soldinck sat back in his chair. “That is bad news for all of us! Wormingers are hard to come by, especially wormingers of quality!”

Bunderwal rose to his feet. “As newly-appointed supercargo of the Galante, allow me to make a recommendation. I propose that Cugel be hired to fill the vacant position.”