came a time when the spectacle of two men chattering to everybody else in a company, and not saying a word to each other, no longer appealed to Bursley’s sense of humour.  The silent scenes at which Maggie assisted every day did not, either, appeal to Maggie’s sense of humour, because she had none.  So the famous feud grew into a sort of elemental fact of Nature.  It was tolerated as the weather is tolerated.  The brothers acquired pride in it; even Bursley regarded it as an interesting municipal curiosity.  The sole imperfection in a lovely and otherwise perfect quarrel was that John and Robert, being both employed at Roycroft’s Majolica Manufactory, the one as works manager and the other as commercial traveller, were obliged to speak to each other occasionally in the way of business.  Artistically, this was a pity, though they did speak very sternly and distantly.  The partial truce necessitated by Roycroft’s was confined strictly to Roycroft’s.  And when Robert was not on his journeys, these two tall, strong, dark, bearded men might often be seen of a night walking separately and doggedly down Oldcastle Street from the works, within five yards of each other.

And no one suggested the lunatic asylum.  Such is the force of pride, of rank stupidity, and of habit.

The slate-scratching was scarcely over that evening when Mr Powell Liversage appeared.  He was a golden-haired man, with a jolly face, lighter and shorter in structure than the two brothers.  His friendship with them dated from school-days, and it had survived even the entrance of Liversage into a learned profession.  Liversage, who, being a bachelor like the Hessians, had many unoccupied evenings, came to see the brothers regularly every Saturday night, and one or other of them dropped in upon him most Wednesdays; but this particular night was a Thursday.

‘How do?’ John greeted him succinctly between two puffs of a pipe.

‘How do?’ replied Liversage.

‘How do, Pow?’ Robert greeted him in turn, also between two puffs of a pipe.

And ’How do, little ‘un?’ replied Liversage.

A chair was indicated to him, and he sat down, and Robert poured out some coffee into a third cup which Maggie had brought.  John pushed away the extra special of the Staffordshire Signal, which he had been reading.

‘What’s up these days?’ John demanded.

‘Well,’ said Liversage, and both brothers noticed that he was rather ill at ease, instead of being humorous and lightly caustic as usual, ‘the will’s turned up.’

‘The devil it has!’ John exclaimed.  ‘When?’

‘This afternoon.’

And then, as there was a pause, Liversage added:  ’Yes, my sons, the will’s turned up.’

‘But where, you cuckoo, sitting there like that?’ asked Robert.  ‘Where?’

’It was in that registered letter addressed to your sister that the Post Office people wouldn’t hand over until we’d taken out letters of administration.’