He surveyed his preserver inquiringly to gather what manner of man he was. A shabby, hungry-looking fellow, who ought to have been more respectable than his clothes proclaimed. "I think it's quite likely," was the cool response. "Horse stumbled when I was off my balance ducking away from a bough," Gage thought proper to explain by way of excusing his late pose. "Ah! Just so. Not an easy position to recover from when once you're well shaken into it," the man commented indifferently; "with the horse a bit fresh, and the ground not exactly a billiard table. Lucky I noticed you, if you happen to be in no particular hurry to hand in your checks." "I really am more than grateful to you," Gage protested warmly, realizing the narrow squeak he had had of losing a big investment. "I hope I may be able to prove my gratitude. Do you belong to these parts?" "No. Not exactly," the man answered gloomily. "Came down here to get a place only to find it snapped up by somebody else." "Ah, the way of the world, I'm afraid," Gage commented sympathetically. "Well, perhaps I can find you something to do on my place here. I'm Lord Quorn." "Oh, are you?" returned the man in a tone which left Gage a little doubtful as to his manners. "I've taken over an old place that wants a deal of looking after to get it ship-shape," he continued. "Any experience in land and farming?" "Plenty," was the prompt answer. "Then you ought to do for me," Gage said. "Anyhow I should like to put something acceptable in your way. You've done me a service I shan't easily forget, and I hope you won't do anything to make me want to regret it. Now, will it suit your book to take a position on the Staplewick estate?" "Just what I was after," replied the stranger in a curiously mechanical tone. He seemed strangely preoccupied, even apathetic, but Gage was not going just then to criticize too closely the man who had saved his life. "Come along, then," he said. The man seemed to rouse himself from a reverie, then laughed oddly. "Yes, I'll come," he agreed more briskly. "You shan't find fault with the way I look after my place." "We'll talk it over as we go," said Gage, throwing the bridle over his arm and moving on. "Full of fun and pretty surprises, the peerage," Gage observed to his friend later in the afternoon. "Makes one wonder what the next start is going to be." "What's wrong now?" Peckover inquired with a laugh. "Had a nasty spill, and nearly got sent to bye-bye just as the fun is beginning." "Come off?" Gage answered by an aggrieved nod, as though he held his friend responsible for the mishap. "Got my foot caught in the iron and was dragged ever so far." "Awkward," Peckover commented. "Still you can't put that down to the peerage. Noblemen's feet don't swell, although their heads may." "I don't," returned Gage snappishly. "Only the Quorn title doesn't seem exactly a mascot."