The Squire frowned. It was confounding that his son should ask such questions. He said sharply: “Have you been talking with Hamlin?” “I talk with Tom, Dick, and Harry. I want to know what people really think. If it irritates you, father, to discuss the conditions in our own county, I’ll shut up.” The Squire fumed a little, but he was not ill-pleased. The boy expressed himself well and modestly. And he had inherited from his dear mother an ironical humour which tickled him. Whether, also, he had inherited her tact remained to be seen. “Whose fault is it?” he repeated slowly. “That’s a bit of a stumper, boy. One can’t answer a big question like that—off hand.” “Is it their fault? A lot of ’em herd together like animals.” “Not on my property, Lionel.” “I know. You’ve been awfully decent about that, but elsewhere. Within a radius of ten miles, we both know of conditions that beat the London slums. Is that their fault?” “No.” “Things are changing slowly for the better, but why can’t they be speeded up? If our labourers could be made more intelligent, we should profit as much as they. You’ve looked after their bodies jolly well. You believe in eugenics.” “I do, b’ Jove! I don’t believe in clap-trap education, never did. Our old gaffers, who signed their names with their thumbs did a better day’s work than their half-educated sons.” Lionel laughed. “Father, I can roll you in the dust. I hate to do it.” “Do it, if you can, you young rascal. I defy you!” He laughed, more loudly than Lionel. “How about Fishpingle?” “Ben? What the doose has he got to do with it?” “He has been a tower of strength to you, simply because he is educated. He shines brighter than Bonsor. Where would you be without him?” “Um! You think you’ve downed me, boy. You quite forget that Ben is the exception that proves the rule. I’ve trained Ben. What he knows he’s got from me, b’ Jove! And I’ll admit that because his confounded memory happens to be better than mine he is able, once in a while, to get the upper hand by quoting me against myself. That’s a little trick of his which always exasperates me. Ben has understudied me, so to speak, to his own advantage and mine. He could take Bonsor’s place, and I sometimes think I shall let him have it. But, I repeat, Ben is exceptional. As to that, everybody knows that real ability always pushes itself out of the ruck. And—there it is! With the ruck, you can do so little practically nothing—nothing. If you have finished your cigar, we’ll join your mother.” Lionel followed his sire into the Long Saloon. Lady Pomfret was playing “Patience” as usual. Lionel decided that he must do the same. His jolly old father couldn’t be pressed, as many a young man had discovered out hunting, when the Squire carried a Master’s horn. “Don’t ride in my pocket, sir,” he would roar out. “Am I hunting hounds or are you?”