‘How much didst say this traction-engine had cost thee?’ Dan asked, while Harold was pouring the indispensable fluid into the tank.

‘Not far off twelve hundred,’ answered Harold lightly.  ’Keep that cigar away from here.’

‘Fifteen pun’ ud buy this mare,’ Dan announced to the road.

‘Now, all aboard!’ Harold commanded at length.  ’How much shall I give to the boy for the horse and trap, uncle?’

‘Nothing,’ said Dan.  ‘I havena’ finished wi’ that mare yet.  Didst think I was going to trust mysen i’ that thing o’ yours again?  I’ll meet thee at Bleakridge, lad.’

‘And I think I’ll go with uncle too, Harold,’ said Maud.

Whereupon they both got into the trap.

Harold stared at them, astounded.

‘But I say—­’ he protested, beginning to be angry.

Uncle Dan drove away like the wind, and the stable-boy had all he could do to clamber up behind.

II

Now, at dinner-time that night, in the dining-room of the commodious and well-appointed mansion of the youngest and richest of the Etches, Uncle Dan stood waiting and waiting for his host and hostess to appear.  He was wearing a Turkish tasselled smoking-cap to cover his baldness, and he had taken off his jacket and put on his light, loose overcoat instead of it, since that was a comfortable habit of his.

He sent one of the two parlourmaids upstairs for his carpet slippers out of the carpet-bag, and he passed part of the time in changing his boots for his slippers in front of the fire.  Then at length, just as a maid was staggering out under the load of those enormous boots, Harold appeared, very correct, but alone.

‘Awfully sorry to keep you waiting, uncle,’ said Harold, ’but Maud isn’t well.  She isn’t coming down tonight.’

‘What’s up wi’ Maud?’

‘Oh, goodness knows!’ responded Harold gloomily.  ’She’s not well—­ that’s all.’

‘H’m!’ said Dan.  ‘Well, let’s peck a bit.’

So they sat down and began to peck a bit, aided by the two maids.  Dan pecked with prodigious enthusiasm, but Harold was not in good pecking form.  And as the dinner progressed, and Harold sent dish after dish up to his wife, and his wife returned dish after dish untouched, Harold’s gloom communicated itself to the house in general.

One felt that if one had penetrated to the farthest corner of the farthest attic, a little parcel of spiritual gloom would have already arrived there.  The sense of disaster was in the abode.  The cook was prophesying like anything in the kitchen.  Durand in the garage was meditating upon such of his master’s pithy remarks as he had been able to understand.

When the dinner was over, and the coffee and liqueurs and cigars had been served, and the two maids had left the dining-room, Dan turned to his grandnephew and said—­

’There’s things as has changed since my time, lad, but human nature inna’ one on em.’