He indicated the tankard. Fishpingle smiled. “A small matter of discipline, Sir Geoffrey, which concerns Alfred and myself.” “But why, man, is it placed upside down?” “Merely as an object lesson, to test a young man’s powers of observation.” As he spoke, with a certain quaint deliberation, he glanced affectionately at the fine piece of silver. Then, in a sharper tone, he spoke to Alfred: “Take it away, my lad, and clean it properly.” Alfred picked up the tankard, somewhat sullenly. His face brightened as the Squire exclaimed irritably: “But, damn it, Ben, the tankard is clean. Here—give it me.” Alfred handed over the tankard, which the Squire examined carefully. “Nothing wrong that I can see.” Alfred betrayed a momentary triumph. Fishpingle said quietly: “Please inspect the bottom of it, Sir Geoffrey.” The Squire did so, and chuckled. “Yes, yes, I take you, Ben. Inculcate your object lesson, my friend.” Fishpingle obeyed this injunction in his own deliberate fashion. Perhaps this was the essential difference between two men who had so much else in common. The Squire, obviously, acted upon impulse. Inheriting a large estate early in life, and with it those _droits de seigneur_ which, to do him credit, he had exercised both leniently and with an honest regard for the feelings of others, he had learned to control everybody upon his domain except himself. Fishpingle, on the other hand, with a much stronger will and an intelligence far above the average, habitually looked before he leaped. Having done so he was quite likely to leap farther than his master. He took the tankard from Sir Geoffrey’s hand, and slowly tapped the bottom of it. “Hall marks full of plate powder. A guest sees this fine tankard on Sir Geoffrey’s dining-table. If he is a connoisseur he asks leave to look it over. And the one thing which gives him the information he’s after—_pedigree_—has been hidden by your carelessness. Off with you!” Alfred, much crestfallen, took the tankard and left the room. Sir Geoffrey sat down in Fishpingle’s big armchair. He smiled pleasantly at Prudence. “Run along, my little maid,” he said, in his most genial voice. Prudence hesitated, fiddling with her apron. “What is it, my dear?” She blushed a little. “Eugannicks, Sir Geoffrey.” The Squire threw back his head and laughed. “Ha—ha! What a nose for a hunted fox!” Prudence, thus compared to a hound, had wit enough to “speak” to a good scent. “If it ought to be taught in the schools——” The Squire was delighted. As a rule, the stupidity of some of his people exasperated him. “You sly little puss! I say, Ben——” “Sir Geoffrey?” “Your little niece wants to know the meaning of eugenics.” “Please, uncle.”