“There! You hear him: go and play something with Meg; you’re never still with those long legs of yours, and I like a quiet game.” “I’ll keep as quiet as pussy,” said Gervase. “Which’ll you have, father, black or white? and let’s toss for the first move.” Now, everybody knew that Sir Giles always played with the white men and always had the first move. Once again the old gentleman had to resign himself to the noisy moves and shouts of his son over every new combination, and to the unconscious kicks which the restlessness of Gervase’s long limp legs inflicted right and left. Dunning stood behind his master’s chair, with a stern face of disapproval, yet trying hard by winks and nods to indicate the course which ought to be pursued, until Gervase threw himself back in his chair, almost kicking over the table with the corresponding movement of his legs, and bursting into a loud laugh. “What d’ye mean, ye old fool, making faces at me over father’s shoulder? Do you mean I’m to give him the game, like you do? Come on, father, let’s fight it out.” “I never said a word, Sir Giles! I hope as I knows my place,” cried Dunning, alarmed. “Hold your tongue, you big gaby,” cried Sir Giles; but presently the old gentleman thrust the board away, overturning it upon his son’s long legs. “I’ll not play any more,” he said: “I’ve had enough of it. I think I was never so tired in my life. Backgammon’s a fine game, but one can’t go on for ever. Fetch me my drink, Dunning; I think I’ll go to bed.” “It’s all because he’s losing his game,” cried Gervase, with a loud ha! ha! He had something like the manners of a gentleman at the Seven Thorns, but at home his manners were those of the public-house. “The old man don’t like to be beaten; he likes to have everything his own way. And Dunning’s an old humbug, and lets you have it. But it ain’t good for you to have too much of your own way. I’ve been told _that_ since I was a little kid like Osy; and what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, father, don’t you know.” “Gervase, how dare you speak so to your papa? Come over here, sir, and leave him a little in peace. Where did you learn to laugh so loud, and make such a noise? Come here, you riotous boy. You always were a noisy fellow, making one’s head ache to hear you. Sit down, for goodness’ sake, and be quiet. Meg, can’t you find something to amuse him? I dare say he’d like a game at cards. How can I tell you what game? If you can’t, at your time of life, find something that will occupy him and keep him quiet----! Here, Gervase, hold this skein of silk while Parsons winds it, and Meg will go and get the cards, and perhaps you’d like a round game.” “I don’t want a game, mother, not for Meg’s sake, who doesn’t count. I want to be pleasant to you---- and to father, too,” said Gervase, standing up against the fireplace, which, of course, was vacant this summer night.