nished wi' that mare yet. Didst think
I was going to trust mysen i' that thing o' yours again? I'll meet thee
at Bleakridge, lad.'

'And I think I'll go with uncle too, Harold,' said Maud.

Whereupon they both got into the trap.

Harold stared at them, astounded.

'But I say--' he protested, beginning to be angry.

Uncle Dan drove away like the wind, and the stable-boy had all he could
do to clamber up behind.

II

Now, at dinner-time that night, in the dining-room of the commodious
and well-appointed mansion of the youngest and richest of the Etches,
Uncle Dan stood waiting and waiting for his host and hostess to appear.
He was wearing a Turkish tasselled smoking-cap to cover his baldness,
and he had taken off his jacket and put on his light, loose overcoat
instead of it, since that was a comfortable habit of his.

He sent one of the two parlourmaids upstairs for his carpet slippers
out of the carpet-bag, and he passed part of the time in changing his
boots for his slippers in front of the fire. Then at length, just as a
maid was staggering out under the load of those enormous boots, Harold
appeared, very correct, but alone.

'Awfully sorry to keep you waiting, uncle,' said Harold, 'but Maud
isn't well. She isn't coming down tonight.'

'What's up wi' Maud?'

'Oh, goodness knows!' responded Harold gloomily. 'She's not
well--that's all.'

'H'm!' said Dan. 'Well, let's peck a bit.'

So they sat down and began to peck a bit, aided by the two maids. Dan
pecked with prodigious enthusiasm, but Harold was not in good pecking
form. And as the dinner progressed, and Harold sent dish after dish up
to his wife, and his wife returned dish after dish untouched, Harold's
gloom communicated itself to the house in general.

One felt that if one had penetrated to the farthest corner of the
farthest attic, a little parcel of spiritual gloom would have already
arrived there. The sense of disaster was in the abode. The cook was
prophesying like anything in the kitchen. Durand in the garage was
meditating upon such of his master's pithy remarks as he had been able
to understand.

When the dinner was over, and the coffee and liqueurs and cigars had
been served, and the two maids had left the dining-room, Dan turned to
his grandnephew and said--

'There's things as has changed since my time, lad, but human nature
inna' one on em.'

'What do you mean, uncle?' Harold asked awkwardly, self-consciously.

'I mean a