master and for our master's guests. We do it in the way that's been
'anded down to us as the best way. If our master could suggest any
better way, then it would be our place either to leave his service if we
disapproved it, or else to try and do it as he wanted. It would hurt the
self-respect of any good servant to take a man's money and not give him
the very best he can in return for it."

"Well," said the American, "it's not quite as we see it in America."

"That's right, sir. I was over there last year with Sir Henry--in New
York, sir, and I saw something of the men-servants and their ways. They
were paid for service, sir, and they did not give what they were paid
for. You talk about self-respect, sir, in this article. Well now, my
self-respect wouldn't let me treat a master as I've seen them do over
there."

"We don't even like the word 'master,'" said the American.

"Well, that's neither 'ere nor there, sir, if I may be so bold as to say
so. If you're serving a gentleman he's your master for the time being
and any name you may choose to call it by don't make no difference. But
you can't eat your cake and 'ave it, sir. You can't sell your
independence and 'ave it, too."

"Maybe not," said the American. "All the same, the fact remains that
your manhood is the worse for it."

"There I don't 'old with you, sir."

"If it were not, you wouldn't be standing there arguing so quietly. You'd
speak to me in another tone, I guess."

"You must remember, sir, that you are my master's guest, and that I am
paid to wait upon you and make your visit a pleasant one. So long as you
are 'ere, sir, that is 'ow I regard it. Now in London--"

"Well, what about London?"

"Well, in London if you would have the goodness to let me have a word
with you I could make you understand a little clearer what I am trying to
explain to you. 'Arding is my name, sir. If you get a call from 'Enery
'Arding, you'll know that I 'ave a word to say to you."

* * * * *

So it happened about three days later that our American journalist in his
London hotel received a letter that a Mr. Henry Harding desired to speak
with him. The man was waiting in the hall dressed in quiet tweeds. He
had cast his manner with his uniform and was firmly deliberate in all he
said and did. The professional silkiness was gone, and his bearing was
all that the most democratic could desire.

"It's courteous of you to see me, sir," said he. "There's