“That means: don’t pull an old buffer’s leg when he’s kicked the bucket,” explained Lord Spratte to the two ladies.
The Canon shrugged his shoulders.
“You have no sense of decorum, no seemliness, no dignity.”
“Good heavens, what can you expect? I don’t feel important enough to strike attitudes. I’m just Tommy Tiddler, and I can’t forget it. I might have done something if I’d had any name but Spratte. If it had been just Sprat it would have been vulgar, but those two last letters make it pretentious as well. And that’s what our honours are—vulgar and pretentious! I can’t make out why the old buffer stuck to that beastly monosyllable.”
“I always wish we could change with our butler, Theodore,” said Lady Sophia. “Don’t you think it’s very hard that he should be called Ponsonby, and we—Spratte?”
“I’m not ashamed of it,” said the Canon.
“You’re ashamed of nothing, Theodore,” retorted his brother. “Now, I’m different; I’m a modest sort of chap, and I can’t stand all these gewgaws. I don’t want the silly title with its sham coat-of-arms, and it’s bogus pedigree. And those ridiculous ermine robes! The very thought of them makes my flesh creep. I should have been right enough if I’d just been plain Tom Sprat. I might have made a fairly good horse-dealer, and if I hadn’t brains enough for that I could always have gone into Parliament. I’d have been a capital First Lord of the Admiralty, because I can’t tell a man-o’-war from a coal barge, and the mere sight of the briny ocean makes me feel sick.”
“It’s such as you who bring the Upper House into discredit,” exclaimed Theodore.
“Such as I, my dear brother? Why, I’m the saving of the place, because I have a sense of humour. I know we’re no good. No one cares two straws about us. And they just leave us there because we do no harm and they’ve forgotten all about us.”
“I should like you to compare yourself with Harry Wroxham,” said Canon Spratte. “Though he’s quite a young man, he has acquired a respected and assured position in the House of Lords.”