"That's it," said he. "Machine wearing out. I've rattled her about too much, I suppose. Well, a man must live--my sort of man at least. I could never be content to rust. There's nothing to be done. It's just good-bye and no _au revoir_ this time. That's why I came down. I wanted to see the boy before I pushed off." He turned suddenly. "How's he getting on?" Mr. Trupp shrugged his shoulders. "No improvement?" asked the other. "I wouldn't say that. He's put the brake on a bit of late." "Or had it put on for him," muttered Mr. Caspar. He mused for some time. "I'd have taken a peerage but for him," he said at last. "I can't see Ned as a hereditary legislator." "Oh, I don't know," mumbled Mr. Trupp. He was an aggressive radical of the then active school of Dilke and Chamberlain. "I think he'd do very well in the House of Lords." The young man had touched the springs of laughter in the other's heart. Hans Caspar's immense vitality asserted itself again. He resumed himself with a shout, sweeping the clouds boisterously away. "Ned's a true Beauregard," he said. "Just his mother over again. So charming and so ineffectual! Always some weak strain in an hereditary aristocracy." "Must be," muttered Mr. Trupp. "They're never weeded out. They're above the laws of Nature. Case of Survival of the Unfittest--protected by Law and living on you and me to whom they dictate the Law. Albino bunnies in a gilded hutch with a policeman watching over em!" "Good!" cried Mr. Caspar. "Albino bunnies is good. It took my albino in the way of religious orgies. I prefer Ned's trouble of the two. Less humbug about it." He got up and began restlessly to pace the room. "There's nothing like religion to eat a man's soul away, Trupp--to say nothing of a woman's. _You_ don't let your wife go to church, I understand. Well, you're a shrewd fellow. That way lies the bottomless pit. Mine took to it--it was in her blood, mind you--when I was away in the River Plate driving the Trans-Argentine Railway from the Atlantic to the Pacific. When I came back--good Lord! Priests to luncheon, Bishops to dinner, Deaconesses to tea. Missionary meetings in the drawing-room, altars in the alcove, parasites everywhere. In her last illness she _would_ have a _religeuse_ to see to her instead of one of our nurses from the Whitechapel. Of course she died. Serve her right, too, say I." He paused. "With Ned it was just touch and go which way it would take him. I thought at one time his mother's trouble'd got him, but in the end it was..." He jiggled his elbow. "He's not a bad sort," muttered Mr. Trupp. Hans Caspar took the other by the lapel of his coat.