tor looked puzzled.

"Yes. It used to belong to the Earl of Forres. He couldn't afford to
keep it up and his other places as well, so he sold it to Sir John
Patterdale. . . . Made his money in hardware, did Sir John. . . .
Surely you know Patterdale's Patent Plate."

The Board opined that it did not, and departed to the next case. It
even seemed to regard such flippancy with a certain amount of
suspicion; but then Medical Boards are things of some solemnity. . . .

And so in the course of two or three days Vane drove up to the historic
gates of Rumfold Hall in an ambulance. The house, situated in the
heart of Surrey, was surrounded by extensive grounds. The view from it
was magnificent, stretching away for miles and miles to the south, and
terminating in the purple downs: and Vane, as the car waited for the
gates to be opened, felt that indefinable thrill of pride that comes to
every man when he looks on some glorious stretch of his own country.
He noticed that the lodge-keeper had changed since he was there last,
and not, it struck him, for the better. How well he remembered old
John, with his sweet old wife, and their perfectly kept patch of garden
and spotless little kitchen. . . . He had had two sons, both in the
Grenadiers, magnificent, strapping fellows--and Vane wondered what had
become of them. . . .

Somehow he couldn't quite imagine old John not touching his hat as the
ambulance came in; whereas his successor merely gazed curiously at the
occupants, and then slouched back into the lodge. . . . Of course
hat-touching is a relic of feudalism, and, as such, too hideous to
contemplate in this age of democracy; but still--like a smile--it costs
little and gives much pleasure.

From the condition of the grounds it did not seem that the present
owner had been very greatly troubled by the labour shortage. The
flower beds were a riot of colour; the grass was short and beautifully
kept. And as the ambulance rounded a corner of the drive and the house
opened up in front Vane saw that tennis was in full swing on the lawns.

"Say--what sort of a guy is this fellow?" asked a New Zealander
opposite him suddenly. "It seems to me to be some house."

Vane looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before replying, and the
car was already slowing down before he finally spoke. "He's a
substitute for the old order of things. And according to the labels of
all substitutes, they are the last word in modern efficien