Bill put his thumbs in the armholes of his pictorial waistcoat; Alf stared in speechless admiration. "Lumme," he said at last. "You do think o' things. But 'ow d'you know that Eustace can do it?" Bill held up the old lady's brother's copy of the _Arabian Nights_. "I been readin' this," he said, "seems to be just the sort o' thing they used to like doing in them times. I tell you, I'm glad it's us as 'ave got Eustace an' not the 'Un, because ..." Fearing that Bill was about to bring up once more his favorite scheme for using Eustace to kidnap the Kaiser and end the war Alf cut him short by producing his talisman. Lucy, entering the room at the same moment with a full tankard of beer for her lord, caught sight of the Button and instantly prostrated herself. The tankard reached the ground just before she did, with the result that Lucy's clothes and hair and Lucy's devout forehead weltered in a foaming pool of wasted beer. Alf gasped. "Tripped over the mat, I expect," he volunteered feebly. "You silly owl," roared Bill, exasperated no less by the discomfort of his Hebe than by the waste of his drink. "Don't you know yet what 'appens if you bring out the Button in front of the servants? Down they goes an' down they stays. Put it away, quick, or you'll be drownin' the girl. 'Ere, Lucy, 'op it an' get dried." Lucy, dripping with beer, fled, and Alf, looking rather sheepish, once again produced the Button. He hesitated. "You know," he said, "I 'ardly like to--I mean, we 'ad Eustace up on'y yesterday, you know. If we 'ave 'im again now won't 'e be fed up?" "Let 'im," said Bill. "S'long as you don't ask 'im for a rook's egg, 'e can't turn nasty. An' any'ow you've got to 'ave 'im to swop the furniture, so 'e may as well do the two jobs together. And for 'eving's sake let's 'ave a few tasty pictures on the walls, an' some ornaments an' things. We want to make the place a bit 'omey." "'Ave whatever you like," replied Alf. "You knows more about that sort o' thing than what I do." He rubbed the Button. * * * * * * * Meanwhile, as the vicar and his wife had turned into the road at the Manor gates, the doctor's gardener, one Amos Goodwin, had chanced to be passing.