"Well," said the Duke slowly, "there were several considerations that helped us to decide—first of all the death-rate is very low." "And the gravel soil," murmured Hank encouragingly. "_And_ the gravel soil," the Duke went on, nodding his head wisely, "and the rates, you know——" The vicar raised his hand laughingly. "Three hundred feet above sea level," he smiled, "yes, I know all about the advertised glories of Brockley—but really?" Again they looked at each other. "Shall I?" asked the Duke. "Ye-es," hesitated Hank; "you’d better." The young man sighed. "Have you ever been a duke on a ranch," he asked innocently, "a cattle punching duke, rounding in, branding, roping and earmarking cattle—no? I thought not. Have you ever been a duke prospecting silver or searching for diamonds in the bad lands of Brazil?" "That’s got him," said Hank in a stage whisper. The vicar waited. "Have you ever been a duke under conditions and in circumstances where you were addressed by your title in much the same way as you call your gardener ’Jim’?" The vicar shook his head. "I knew he hadn’t," said Hank triumphantly. "If you had," said the young man with severity, "if your ears had ached with, ’Here, Duke, get up and light the fire,’ or ’Where’s that fool Duke,’ or ’Say, Dukey, lend me a chaw of tobacco’—if you had had any of these experiences, would you not"—he tapped the chest of the vicar with solemn emphasis—"would you not pine for a life, and a land where dukes were treated as dukes ought to be treated, where any man saying ’Jukey’ can be tried for High Treason, and brought to the rack?" "By Magna Charta," murmured Hank. "And the Declaration of Rights," added the Duke indignantly. The vicar rose, his lips twitching. "You will not complain of a lack of worship here," he said. He was a little relieved by the conversation, for he saw behind the extravagance a glimmer of truth, "only please don’t shock my people too much," he smiled, as he stood at the door. "I hope," said the Duke with dignity, "that we shall not shock your people at all. After all, we are gentlefolk." "We buy our beer by the keg," murmured Hank proudly. * * * * * There were other callers. There is, I believe, a game called "Snip, Snap, Snorum," where if you call "Snap" too soon you are penalised, and if you call "Snap" too late you pay forfeit. Calling on the duke was a sort of game of social snap, for Kymott Crescent vacillated in an agony of apprehension between the bad form of calling too soon, and the terrible disadvantage that might accrue through calling too late and finding some hated social rival installed as confidential adviser and _Fides Achates_. The Coyters were the first to call, thus endorsing the Crescent’s opinion of Mrs. C. Coyter fired off his three stories:— (1) What the parrot said to the policeman.