"May be. I listens to all men, and suffers fools and knaves as gladly as King Solomon. The Kayser be spoiling for a big fight wi' we. You be on the side o' peace, William Saint, and there's many to keep 'ee company. I don't blame 'ee. 'Tis your ignorance. The country be full o' just such men as you, wi' their eyes glued to their own tills, and counters, mindin' their own business, pore souls! and puffed up wi' conceit." He paused and concluded impressively: "We be tee-totally unprepared, and there be millions over yonder a-waiting and a-longing to stick us like so many fat hogs. I wish 'ee, one and all, good-night." Uncle cocked his bowler--a genuine Billy Coke hat, with Lock's historical name on a much-soiled lining (the bowler had belonged to Captain Davenant)--at a martial angle, and strode to his cottage, whistling Garryowen. When out with the fox-hounds, he wore a stained red coat, another sometime hartog of the Captain's, surmounting well-cut breeches and gaiters, once again part of a generous employer's wardrobe. He was wearing the breeches and gaiters to-day, but his mind had wandered from sport to war. Tremendous military ardour possessed him. By the luck of things, on leaving the ale-house, he encountered Lionel Pomfret returning from fishing. Lionel had a great affection for Uncle, although he knew him to be a poacher on the sly. Uncle hailed him with respectful geniality, reasonably assured that five minutes' talk with t'young Squire meant more war news and a shining half-crown. On such occasions he employed a formula, rarely known to fail to open either hearts or purses. "How well 'ee look, Master Lionel! And Lard bless 'ee, I was thinkin' of 'ee as you turned carner. Any fish this fine evening?" Lionel Pomfret opened his creel and displayed a nice brace and a half. But Uncle was in no mood to talk of trout. He had more notable fish to fry. "What be they Frenchies doing, sir?" Lionel answered gravely: "I hear that twenty thousand Germans have been repulsed at Nancy, but I don't believe it, Uncle." "No more don't I, Master Lionel. These be troublous times." Lionel nodded. "Be we coming in?" "Damn it, we can't keep out." "What I says exzactly. The Rads be kickin' up a fine hullabaloo--a very dirty, timorsome lot. And bound to crawl down the pole bimeby." "France is invaded," said Lionel. "Quick work, sir." "Quick? After forty years' elaborate preparation? This thing is horribly serious, Uncle. I'm wondering what they think about it in the village." "I can tell 'ee, no man better. 'Tis none o' their business, they thinks. Such shameless ignerunce makes wiser folk value their wisdom. I happened into the _Sir John Barleycorn_ just afore seein' you, sir. I'd a matter o' business wi' William Saint." Not for wealth untold would Uncle have admitted that he visited an ale-house to drink ale. Lionel smiled. He knew his man. "Very thirsty evening, too, Uncle."