[_Sits._ AMY _stands in devoted attitude just at back of his chair._ _Rose (rising and bringing hassock)._ Let me give you this hassock—one is so uncomfortable in these deep chairs without one. _Lord F._ Er, Thanks! You’re very kind. _Helen (tenderly)._ Lord Ferrol, will you tell me how you like your tea? _Lord F._ Strong, please, with plenty of cream and sugar. _Amy (admiringly)._ Ah, how nice it is to find a man who takes his tea as it should be taken! (_looking at men scornfully_). It is really a mental labor to pour tea for the average man. _Dennis._ Average is a condition common to many; therefore we are common. Yet somebody said the common people were never wrong. _Helen._ Well, they may never be wrong, but they can be uncommonly disagreeable! _Lord F._ Yes, that’s very true. You know, at home we don’t have much to do with that class, but out here you can’t keep away from them. _Amy (turning to men)._ There! I hope you are properly crushed? _Lord F. (turning to Amy)._ Eh! _Amy (leaning over Lord F. tenderly)._ Oh, I wasn’t speaking to you, dear Lord Ferrol! _Mrs. W._ I fear that you have had some unpleasant experiences here, from the way you speak. _Lord F._ Rather. (_Helen hands cup with winning smile._) Thanks, awfully! _George._ Perhaps Lord Ferrol will tell us some of them; we may be able to free him from a wrong impression. _Lord F._ The awful bore over here is, that every one tries to make jokes. Now, a joke is very jolly after dinner, or when one goes to “Punch” for it. _Steven._ To what? _Lord F._ To “Punch,” don’t you know,—the paper. _Steven._ Oh! Excuse my denseness; I thought we were discussing jokes. _Lord F._ I beg pardon? _Amy._ Don’t mind him, Lord Ferrol. _George._ No, like “Punch,” he’s only trying to be humorous. _Lord F._ Er, is that an American joke? _Dennis._ I always thought Punch was a British joke! _Lord F._ Er, then you Americans do think it funny? _George._ Singularly! _Lord F._ What I object to in this country is the way one’s inferiors joke. It’s such bad form. _Rose (horrified)._ Surely they haven’t tried to joke you? _Lord F._ Yes. Now to-day, coming up here, I took my luggage to the station, and got my brasses, but forgot your direction that it must be re-labelled at the Junction, so they wer’n’t put off there. I spoke to the guard, and he was so vastly obliging in promising to have them sent back that I gave him a deem. _Omnes._ A what? _Lord F._ A deem—your small coin that’s almost as much as our sixpence, don’t you know. _Omnes._ Oh, yes! _Lord F._ Well, the fellow looked at it, and then he smiled, and said loud enough for the whole car to hear: “My dear John Bull, don’t you sling your wealth about in this prodigal way. You take it home, and put it out at compound interest, and some day you’ll buy out Gould or Rockefeller.” _Helen._ How shockingly rude! What did you do?