"Why not—you get a house rent free; the governor furnishes it from Baring's, you get five hundred——"
"The five hundred is badly wanted," admitted Tuppy sadly, "an' if anything would tempt me, it would be five hundred of the brightest and best, but, Tanny, old chick, it can't be done."
"But why not?" protested Hal.
Tuppy was still examining his hat.
"Dignity, old friend," said Tuppy categorically. "House of Lords, family traditions, pride of birth, ancient lineage—the whole damn thing's wrong. Besides, it would get into the papers, 'Noble Lord caretaker in the suburbs: Tuppy's latest!' ugh!"
He shuddered.
"An' again," he went on. "Where is Brockley, what is Brockley, who has ever lived in Brockley: what part has Brockley played in the stirrin' story of our national life? Is there a Lord Brockley, or a Bishop of Brockley or a Lord of the Manor. Yes, there is a 'Lord of the Manor,'" he amended bitterly. "It's the name of a public-house. It's no go, dear old boy, it can't be done. I've looked it up, found it on a map, an' read about it in the A.B.C. Time Table. It's all back-gardens an' workman's trains, an' stipendiary magistrates, an' within walkin' distance of the County Court."
He shook his head so vigorously that his eyeglass fell out.
He replaced it carefully and pulled on his gloves.
"Now look here, Tuppy," said Hal impatiently, "for heaven's sake, don't be a raving ass!"