"One is lucky," Roger went on seriously, "to get any port wine at all now. I'm thankful to say I bought ten dozen from my old college some years ago to lay down; otherwise I don't know what I should do. My wine merchant tells me he couldn't let me have a single bottle. Indeed, he offered to buy some off me, if I'd sell. But I wasn't having any. A bottle in the cellar is worth ten shillings in the pocket these days. I always say that port has become a necessity now one gets so little meat. Lambourne! you are another of our brave defenders; you deserve a second glass." "No, thanks," said Guy, hardly looking up. "I've had enough." He went on talking to Marjorie--about the different views of life held by the French and the Russians. Roger helped himself to cherries. "One has to select them carefully," he remarked for the benefit of the unwillingly listening George. "There is nothing that gives you such stomach-aches as unripe cherries." "I expect you're glad, Mr. Petherton, that holidays have begun at last?" said Jacobsen. "Glad? I should think so. One is utterly dead beat at the end of the summer term. Isn't one, White?" White had taken the opportunity to turn back again and listen to Guy's conversation; recalled, like a dog who has started off on a forbidden scent, he obediently assented that one did get tired at the end of the summer term. "I suppose," said Jacobsen, "you still teach the same old things--Cæsar, Latin verses, Greek grammar, and the rest? We Americans can hardly believe that all that still goes on." "Thank goodness," said Roger, "we still hammer a little solid stuff into them. But there's been a great deal of fuss lately about new curriculums and so forth. They do a lot of science now and things of that kind, but I don't believe the children learn anything at all. It's pure waste of time." "So is all education, I dare say," said Jacobsen lightly. "Not if you teach them discipline. That's what's wanted--discipline. Most of these little boys need plenty of beating, and they don't get enough now. Besides, if you can't hammer knowledge in at their heads, you can at least beat a little in at their tails." "You're very ferocious, Roger," said Mr. Petherton, smiling. He was feeling better; the duck was settling down. "No, it's the vital thing. The best thing the war has brought us is discipline. The country had got slack and wanted tightening up." Roger's face glowed with zeal. From the other end of the table Guy's voice could be heard saying, "Do you know César Franck's 'Dieu s'avance à travers la lande'? It's one of the finest bits of religious music I know."