"Be we coming in?"
"Damn it, we can't keep out."
"What I says exzactly. The Rads be kickin' up a fine hullabaloo—a very dirty, timorsome lot. And bound to crawl down the pole bimeby."
"France is invaded," said Lionel.
"Quick work, sir."
"Quick? After forty years' elaborate preparation? This thing is horribly serious, Uncle. I'm wondering what they think about it in the village."
"I can tell 'ee, no man better. 'Tis none o' their business, they thinks. Such shameless ignerunce makes wiser folk value their wisdom. I happened into the Sir John Barleycorn just afore seein' you, sir. I'd a matter o' business wi' William Saint."
Not for wealth untold would Uncle have admitted that he visited an ale-house to drink ale. Lionel smiled. He knew his man.
"Very thirsty evening, too, Uncle."
"I bain't denying that, Master Lionel. And I did take a glass o' what they calls ale there for the good o' the house. We fell to talkin'. I made bold to tell 'em what me and Lord Roberts felt about that there Kayser. And it miffed 'em. I could see that. And the less they pore souls says the more they thinks. They be chewin' my cud now. But what do 'ee really think, sir?"