and the table and that big worn-out couch, for instance."

"Lucky thing they can't, sir," mumbled Helton, holding the seam of the
table-cloth in his teeth while he folded it.

"Why?" said Lewis. "Why should it be lucky they can't? Don't you suppose
if they had the power of talk, they'd have the power of discretion as
well, just as we have?"

"I don't know about that, sir," said Helton. "Things is servants just
like us serving-men is. The more wooden a serving-man is in the matter
of talk, the easier it is for 'im to get a plice. If you ask me, sir, I
would s'y as chairs is wooden and walls stone an' brick for the comfort
of their betters, an' that they 'aven't any too much discretion as it
is, let alone talking."

"Nelton," said Lewis, "I've been waiting to ask you something. I wonder
if you could tell me."

"Can't s'y in the dark," said Nelton.

"It's this," said Lewis. "Everybody here--all dad's friends except Lady
Derl--call him Grapes Leighton. Why? I've started to ask him two or
three times, but somehow something else seems to crop up in his mind,
and he doesn't give me a chance to finish."

Nelton's lowered eyes flashed a shrewd look at Lewis's face.

"The exercise of discretion ennobles the profession," he said, and
stopped, a dazed, pleased look in his face at hearing his own rhyme. He