"The Captain be a dry old stick, but cracklin' wi' ripe wisdom, as I be. And he's seen the world, as I have. Stay-at-home folk never look further than their back-yards. I takes a very wide view. Me and Lord Roberts have sized up this yere Kayser for what he be, a very bumptious, slambang, bold pirate, a Grab-all as must be put in his place by we. And why? Because 'tis our duty and privilege to keep proper order. We had to down Krooger." He trolled out lustily: "Good old Krooger's dead. He cut 'is throat Wi' a piece o' soap. Good old Krooger's dead." "I'll drink one more glass o' ale afore I go homealong. Yes, my respectable, church-goin' friends, we be on the eve o' such battles as never was. And I couldn't hold up head amongst proper men, if I thought old England'd keep out o' the scrap. I practises what I preaches. I've three big sons--fair whoppers. If wanted, I'll see to it that they be amongst the first to go, and wi' all my honest, generous soul I wish I could go along wi' en." The publican, William Saint, who served the ale, said sharply: "Your sons, Uncle, may have something to say about that." Uncle stared at him disdainfully. William Saint was of Nether-Applewhite, but he had begun a prosperous career as a footman at Pomfret Court. Uncle despised lackeys in his heart. And he detested what he termed "quality talk" from people who were not quality. William Saint spoke mincingly, which indicated cant and prosperity. He was accused, not without reason, of holding radical views, although, being a time-server, he voted Conservative in accordance with the Squire's wishes. Nevertheless, Saint was not a man to be ignored or taken lightly. His tavern, the _Sir John Barleycorn_, did not engross all his activities. He had many small irons in the fire, bought and sold horses, dealt in corn and hay, and farmed a few acres of land. In appearance, he somewhat resembled Napoleon: the same massive jaw, the thin lips, the pale complexion and brooding brow. Under his management a small ale-house was becoming a rival of the principal inn, the _Pomfret Arms_. He catered for a better class of customer than his predecessor. And he saw possibilities in a tavern, happily situated in the middle of the village, overlooking the Avon, a comfortable house of call, clean outwardly and within, heavily-thatched, picturesque enough to catch the eye and beguile the fancy of the ubiquitous motorist. Uncle drank his ale before he answered Saint. The mighty draught restored his good-humour.