‘It’s not often one sees such a typical bit of feudalism as this,’ he said, without the smallest embarrassment, pointing to the old men, the gates, the hurdles, which Gregson was now placing in position, and finally the Squire himself.  ’I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds.  It’s as good as a play.  You’re fighting the County Agricultural War Committee, I understand from these old fellows, because they want a bit of your park to grow more food?’

‘Well, sir, and how does it matter to you?’

‘Oh, it matters a great deal,’ said the other, smiling.  ’I want to be able to tell my grandchildren—­when I get ’em—­that I once saw this kind of thing.  They’ll never believe me.  For in their day, you see, there’ll be no squires, and no parks.  The land ’ll be the people’s, and all this kind of thing—­your gates, your servants, your fine house, your game-coverts, and all the rest of it—­will be like a bit of history out of Noah’s Ark.’

The Squire looked at him attentively.

‘You’re a queer kind of chap,’ he said, half contemptuously.  ’I suppose you’re one of those revolutionary fellows the papers talk about?’

‘That’s it.  Only there are a good many of us.  When the time comes,’ he nodded pleasantly, ‘we shall know how to deal with you.’

‘It’ll take a good deal longer than you think,’ said the Squire coolly; ’unless indeed you borrow the chap from Russia who’s invented the machine for cutting off five hundred heads at once, by electricity.  That might hasten matters a little!’

He had by now entirely recovered his chaffing, reckless temper, and was half enjoying the encounter.

‘Oh, not so long,’ said the other.  ’You’re just passing a Franchise Bill that will astonish you when you see the results!  You perhaps may just live it out—­yes, you may die peaceably in that house yonder.  But your son, if you have one—­that’ll be another pair of boots!’

’You and your pals would be much better employed in stopping this accursed war than in talking revolutionary drivel like that,’ said the Squire, with energy.

‘Oh ho! so you want to stop the war?’ said the other, lifting his eyebrows.  ‘I should like to know why.’

The Squire went off at once into one of his usual tirades as to ‘slavery’ and ‘liberty.’  ’You’re made to work, or fight! willy-nilly.  That man’s turned out of his farm—­willy-nilly.  I’m made to turn him out—­willy-nilly.  The common law of England’s trampled under foot.  What’s worth it?  Nothing!’

The Squire’s thin countenance glowed fanatically.  With his arms akimbo he stood towering over the younger man, his white hair glistening in the sun.

The other smiled, as he looked his assailant up and down.