Welner picked up the wine bottle.
"This may have something to do with it," he said. "In vino veritas."
"Well, let's get off the subject," Clete said.
"As you wish," Welner said. "There is nothing else you would like to talk about?"
"Not a thing, thank you," Clete said, and then heard himself saying: "Well, there is something."
"What?" Welner asked.
Clete picked up his wineglass. It was nearly empty. He drained it, reached for the bottle, poured more, and then offered the bottle to Welner, who nodded.
"I need a little cultural advice," Clete said as he filled the priest's glass. "Not moral."
"When faced with more tableware than you know what to do with, the best thing to do is work inward," Welner said, straight-faced. "The outer fork first, then the-"
"My Aunt Martha taught me all I need to know about knives and forks, thank you very much, Father," Clete interrupted, chuckling.
"I'm surprised. According to your father, norteamericanos are savages who handle their food with sharpened sticks," Welner said. "I was apparently misin-formed."
"Actually, most of the time we just use our fingers," Clete said.
"What is your cultural problem?"
"I think the wine got to me," Clete said. "Now I'm sorry I started this."
"Your father once told me-we had been drinking some wine-that the only reason he tolerated me at his table was that I was the only priest he ever knew who didn't pry," Welner said. "We'll leave your cultural problem at that."
He took a swallow of his wine and set the glass down.
"I'll leave you to get settled," he said. "Thank you for your kindness to Fa-ther Denilo."
Clete had a sudden insight.
"Is that why you were here to greet me?"
"One of the reasons. Father Denilo is a good man, a good priest, but I wasn't sure you would understand him. Or he you."
"Tell the bishop that if he transfers him, I will shut off the money," Clete said.
"I won't do that," Welner said. When Clete looked at him in surprise, Wel-ner went on: "According to your father, you are, or were, a very fine officer. Doesn't the U.S. Army teach its officers to conserve their ammunition against the time when they will really need it?"
"I was a Marine, not a soldier," Clete said. "But thank you for the advice."
"Thank you for the wine," Welner said, and started to walk out of the room. "I'll see you again, soon."
"I'll look forward to it," Clete said, feeling somewhat hypocritical.
He heard the sound of an airplane engine, low, over the house, distracting him.
That's not one of el Coronet's Piper Cubs.
Two of them are J-3s with a 40-horsepower Continental A-40-4 engines; the third one is a J-4 with a 75-horsepower Continental A-75-8.
All of which are now mine, of course.
There's a much bigger engine in whatever that is.