"Yes," said Lady Staines, "and don't forget one of the footmen's a Plymouth Brother and mustn't be shocked. It's so difficult to get any one nowadays, one mustn't be too particular. He said he could stand your father by constant prayer, but he gave notice over Charles. Charles ought to have waited till dessert to let himself go." The dinner passed off well. Sir Peter and Winn had one never failing bone of contention, the rival merits of the sister services. Sir Peter expressed on every possible occasion in his son's presence, a bitter contempt for the army, and Winn never let an opportunity pass without pointing out the gorged and pampered state of the British Navy. "If we'd had half the money spent on us, Sir, that you keep guzzling over," Winn cheerfully threw out, "we could knock spots out of Europe. The trouble with England is--she treats her sailors as if they were the proud sisters--and we are shoved out like Cinderella into the scullery to do all the dirty work." "Pooh!" said Sir Peter, "work! Is that what you call it--takin' a horse out for an hour or two, and shoutin' at a few men on a parade ground. What's an army good for--even when it's big enough to be seen with the naked eye and capable of attacking a few black savages with their antiquated weapons. Why you're _safe_, that's what you are--dead safe! Land's beneath you--immovable--you can get anywhere you want to as easy as sliding down banisters! Targets keep still too! It's nothing to hit a thing you can stand to fire at while _it_ stands still to _be_ fired at! Child's play, that's what it is. Look at us, something up all the time, peace or war. We've got the sea to fight--wind too--and thick weather. We've got our pace to mind and if we ever did clinch up we'd have to do our fighting at a rate that'd make an express train giddy--and running after a target goin' as hard as we do! That's what I call something of a service. No! No! The Army's played out. You're for ornament now, meant to go round Buckingham Palace and talk to nurse-maids in the Park." "Not many nurse-maids in the Kyber Pass," his son observed. "Frontiers--yes, I dare say," snorted Sir Peter. "A few black rag dolls behind trees popping at you to keep your circulation going, and you with Maxims and all, going picnics in the hills and burning down villages as easy as pulling fire-crackers--and half the time you want help from us! Look at South Africa!" They looked at South Africa for some time till the dessert came and the Plymouth Brother thankfully withdrew. After that Winn allowed himself some margin and Lady Staines leaned back in her chair, ate grapes and enjoyed her coffee. The conversation became pungent, savage and enlivened on Sir Peter's part by strange oaths. Winn kept to sudden thrusts of irony impossible to foresee and difficult to parry.