ng man, I've listened to your
damned nonsense for five minutes--now you listen to me. When you--with
your face all covered with pimples, and your skin all muddy and
sallow--start talking as you've been talking, there's only one thing
should be done. Your mother should take your trousers down and smack
you with a hair brush; though likely you'd cry with fright before she
started. I was his Lordship's servant for forty-two years, and I'm
prouder of that fact than anyone is likely to be over anything you do
in your life. And if his Lordship came in at that door now, he'd meet
me as a man meets a man. Whereas you--you'd run round him sniffing
like the lickspittle you are--and if he didn't tread on you, you'd go
and brag to all your other pimply friends that you'd been talking to an
Earl. . . .'"

"Bravo! old John . . . bravo!" said Vane quietly. "What did the whelp
do?"

"Tried to laugh sarcastic, sir, and then slunk out of the door." The
old man lit his pipe with his gnarled, trembling fingers. "It's
coming, sir--perhaps not in my time--but it's coming. Big
trouble. . . . All those youngsters with their smattering of
edication, and their airs and their conceits and their 'I'm as good as
you.'" He fell silent and stared across the road with a troubled look
in his eyes. "Yes, sir," he repeated, "there be bad days coming for
England--terrible bad--unless folks pull themselves together. . . ."

"Perhaps the Army may help 'em when it comes back," said Vane.

"May be, sir, may be." Old John shook his head doubtfully. "Perhaps
so. Anyways, let's hope so, sir."

"Amen," answered Vane with sudden earnestness. And then for a while
they talked of the soldier son who had been killed. With a proud lift
to his tired, bent shoulders old John brought out the letter written by
his platoon officer, and showed it to the man who had penned a score of
similar documents. It was well thumbed and tattered, and if ever Vane
had experienced a sense of irritation at the exertion of writing to
some dead boy's parents or wife he was amply repaid now. Such a little
trouble really; such a wonderful return of gratitude even though it be
unknown and unacknowledged. . . . "You'll see there, sir," said the
old man, "what his officer said. I can't see myself without my
glasses--but you read it, sir, you read it. . . . 'A magnificent
soldier, an example to the platoon. I should have recommended him for
the stripe.' How's that, si