‘What do you mean, uncle?’ Harold asked awkwardly, self-consciously.

‘I mean as thou’rt a dashed foo’!’

‘Why?’

‘But thou’lt get better o’ that,’ said Dan.

Harold smiled sheepishly.

‘I don’t know what you’re driving at, uncle,’ said he.

‘Yes, thou dost, lad.  Thou’st been and quarrelled wi’ Maud.  And I say thou’rt a dashed foo’!’

‘As a matter of fact—­’ Harold stammered.

‘And ye’ve never quarrelled afore.  This is th’ fust time.  And so thou’st under th’ impression that th’ world’s come to an end.  Well, th’ fust quarrel were bound to come sooner or later.’

‘It isn’t really a quarrel—­it’s about nothing—­’

‘I know—­I know,’ Dan broke in.  ’They always are.  As for it not being a quarrel, lad, call it a picnic if thou’st a mind.  But heir’s sulking upstairs, and thou’rt sulking down here.’

‘She was cross about the petrol,’ said Harold, glad to relieve his mind.  ’I hadn’t a notion she was cross till I went up into the bedroom.  Not a notion!  I explained to her it wasn’t my fault.  I argued it out with her very calmly.  I did my best to reason with her—­’

’Listen here, young ‘un,’ Dan interrupted him.  ‘How old art?’

‘Twenty-three.’

’Thou may’st live another fifty years.  If thou’st a mind to spend ‘em i’ peace, thoud’st better give up reasoning wi’ women.  Give it up right now!  It’s worse nor drink, as a habit.  Kiss ’em, cuddle ’em, beat ’em.  But dunna’ reason wi’ ’em.’

‘What should you have done in my place?’ Harold asked.

‘I should ha’ told Maud her was quite right.’

‘But she wasn’t.’

‘Then I should ha’ winked at mysen i’ th’ glass,’ continued Dan, ‘and kissed her.’

‘That’s all very well—­’

‘Naturally,’ said Dan, ‘her wanted to show off that car i’ front o’ me.  That was but natural.  And her was vexed when it went wrong.’

‘But I told her—­I explained to her.’

‘Her’s a handsome little wench,’ Dan proceeded.  ’And a good heart.  But thou’st got ten times her brains, lad, and thou ought’st to ha’ given in.’

‘But I can’t always be—­’

’It’s allus them as gives in as has their own way.  I remember her grandfather—­he was th’ eldest o’ us—­he quarrelled wi’ his wife afore they’d been married a week, and she raced him all over th’ town wi’ a besom—­’

‘With a besom, uncle?’ exclaimed Harold, shocked at these family disclosures.

‘Wi’ a besom,’ said Dan.  That come o’ reasoning wi’ a woman.  It taught him a lesson, I can tell thee.  And afterwards he always said as nowt was worth a quarrel—­nowt!  And it isna’.’

‘I don’t think Maud will race me all over the town with a besom,’ Harold remarked reflectively.

‘There’s worse things nor that,’ said Dan.  ’Look thee here, get out o’ th’ house for a’ ‘our.  Go to th’ Conservative Club, and then come back.  Dost understand?’