The Earl of Windermere wrote to the Rev. Arthur Stayne, M.A., vicar of
St. Magnus, Brockley--
"I have just heard that your unfortunate parish is to be inflicted with
young de Montvillier. What process of reasoning led him to fix upon
Brockley I cannot, dare not, fathom. You may be sure that this freak of
his has some devilishly subtle cause--don't let him worry your good
parishioners. He was at Eton with my boy Jim. I met him cow punching
in Texas a few years ago when I was visiting the States, and he was of
some service to me. He belongs to one of the oldest families in France,
but his people were chucked out at the time of the Revolution. He is as
good as gold, as plucky as they make 'em, and, thanks to his father (the
only one of the family to settle anywhere for long), thoroughly
Anglicized in sympathies and in language. He is quite 'the compleat
philosopher,' flippant, audacious and casual. His pal Hank, who is with
him, is George Hankey, the man who discovered silver in Los Madeges.
Both of them have made and lost fortunes, but I believe they have come
back to England with something like a competence. Call on them. They
will probably be very casual with you, but they are both worth
cultivating."
The Rev. Arthur Stayne called and was admitted into the barely-furnished
hall by the deferential man-servant.
"His grace will see you in the common-room," he said, and ushered the
clergyman into the back parlour.
The Duke rose with a smile, and came toward him with outstretched hand.
Hank got up from his lounge chair, and waved away the cloud of smoke
that hovered about his head.
"Glad to see you, sir," said the Duke, with a note of respect in his
voice, "this is Mr. Hankey."
The vicar, on his guard against a possibility of brusqueness, returned
Hank's friendly grin with relief.
"I've had a letter from Windermere," he explained. The Duke looked
puzzled for a moment and he turned to his companion.
"That's the guy that fell off the bronco," Hank said with a calm
politeness, totally at variance with his disrespectful language.
The vicar looked at him sharply.
"Oh yes!" said the Duke eagerly, "of course. I picked him up."
There came to the vicar's mind a recollection that this young man had
been "of some service to me." He smiled.
This broke the ice, and soon there was a three-cornered conversation in
progress, which embraced subjects, as far apart as cattle ranching, and
gardening.
"Now look here, you people," said the vicar, growing serious after a
while, "I've got something to say to you--why have you come to
Brockley?"
The two men exchanged glances.
"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.