“You are right, sir,” said Gumbril, “they will. And the families of the employed and the prosperous will as steadily grow smaller. It is regrettable that birth control should have begun at the wrong end of the scale. There seems to be a level of poverty below which it doesn’t seem worth while practising birth control, and a level of education below which birth control is regarded as morally wrong. Strange, how long it has taken for the ideas of love and procreation to dissociate themselves in the human mind. In the majority of minds they are still, even in this so-called twentieth century, indivisibly wedded. Still,” he continued hopefully, “progress is being made, progress is certainly, though slowly, being made. It is gratifying to find, for example, in the latest statistics, that the clergy, as a class, are now remarkable for the smallness of their families. The old jest is out of date. Is it too much to hope that these gentlemen may bring themselves in time to preach what they already practise?” “It _is_ too much to hope, sir,” the old gentleman answered with decision. “You are probably right,” said Gumbril. “If we were all to preach all the things we all practise,” continued the old gentleman, “the world would soon be a pretty sort of bear-garden, I can tell you. Yes, and a monkey-house. And a wart-hoggery. As it is, sir, it is merely a place where there are too many human beings. Vice must pay its tribute to virtue, or else we are all undone.” “I admire your wisdom, sir,” said Gumbril. The old gentleman was delighted. “And I have been much impressed by your philosophical reflections,” he said. “Tell me, are you at all interested in old brandy?” “Well, not philosophically,” said Gumbril. “As a mere empiric only.” “As a mere empiric!” The old gentleman laughed. “Then let me beg you to accept a case. I have a cellar which I shall never drink dry, alas! before I die. My only wish is that what remains of it shall be distributed among those who can really appreciate it. In you, sir, I see a fitting recipient of a case of brandy.” “You overwhelm me,” said Gumbril. “You are too kind, and, I may add, too flattering.” The train, which was a mortally slow one, came grinding for what seemed the hundredth time to a halt. “Not at all,” said the old gentleman. “If you have a card, sir.” Gumbril searched his pockets. “I have come without one.” “Never mind,” said the old gentleman. “I think I have a pencil. If you will give me your name and address, I will have the case sent to you at once.” Leisurely, he hunted for the pencil, he took out a notebook. The train gave a jerk forward. “Now, sir,” he said. Gumbril began dictating. “Theodore,” he said slowly. “The—o—dore,” the old gentleman repeated, syllable by syllable.