Tom Jettan was busy thinking out a suitable name for his home when the countryside's nickname came to his ears. He was not without humour in spite of his vanity, and when the sobriquet had sunk into his brain, he chuckled deep in his chest, and slapped his knee in appreciation. Not a month later the neighbours were horrified to find, cunningly inserted in the wrought-iron gates of the white house, a gilded scroll bearing the legend, "Jettan's Pride." No little apprehension was felt amongst them at having their secret joke thus discovered and utilised, and those who next waited on Tom did so with an air of ashamed nervousness. But Tom soon made it clear that, far from being offended, he was grateful to them for finding an appropriate name for his home. His hopeful prophecy concerning the breaking of tradition was not realised in either of his sons. The elder, Maurice, sowed all the wild oats of which he was capable before taking up his abode at the Pride; the other, Thomas, never ceased sowing wild oats, and showed no love for the house whatsoever. When old Tom died he left a will which gave Maurice to understand that if, by the time he was fifty years of age, he still refused to settle down at the Pride, it was to pass to his brother and his brother's heirs. Thomas counselled Maurice to marry and produce some children. "For damme if I do, my boy! The old man must have lost his faculties to expect a Jettan to live in this hole! I tell ye flat, Maurice, I'll not have the place. 'Tis you who are the elder, and you must assume the--the responsibilities!" At that he fell a-chuckling, for he was an irrepressible scamp. "Certainly I shall live here," answered Maurice. "Three months here, and nine months--not here. What's to stop me?" "Does the will allow it?" asked Tom doubtfully. "It does not forbid it. And I shall get me a wife." At that Tom burst out laughing, but checked himself hurriedly as he met his brother's reproving eye. "God save us, and the old gentleman but three days dead! Not that I meant any disrespect, y'know. Faith, the old man 'ud be the first to laugh with me, stap me if he wouldn't!" He stifled another laugh, and shrugged his shoulders. "Or he would before he went crazy-pious over this devilish great barn of a house. You'll never have the money to keep it, Maurry," he added cheerfully, "let alone a wife." Maurice twirled his eyeglass, frowning. "My father has left even more than I expected," he said. "Oh ay! But it'll be gone after a week's play! God ha' mercy, Maurry, do ye hope to husband it?" "Nay, I hope to husband a wife. The rest I'll leave to her." Tom came heavily to his feet. He stared at his brother, round-eyed. "Blister me, but I believe the place is turning you like the old gentleman! Now, Maurry, Maurry, stiffen your back, man!" Maurice smiled. "It'll take more than the Pride to reform me, Tom. I'm thinking that the place is too good to sell or throw away."