This morning he had devoted to a keen investigation of several matters
of palpitating interest.

Had Fledge, the butler, who had apparently been at Kingsmead since the
beginning of the world, any teeth, or did his flexible, long lips hide
only gums? Until that day the problem had never suggested itself to
Fledge's master, but when it did, it roused in him a passion of
curiosity that had to be satisfied, after the failure of a series of
diplomatic attempts by the putting of a plain question.

"I say, Fledge."

"My lord?"

"--You never _do_ really open your mouth, you know--except, I suppose,
when you eat----"

"Yes, my lord."

"You just, well--fumble with your lips. So--I say, Fledge, _have_ you
any teeth?"

And Fledge, possibly because he was a man of principle, but probably
also because he suspected that his master's next words might take the
form of an order to open his mouth, told the truth. He had three teeth
only.

"And look here, Fledge, why do William's toes turn out at such a fearful
angle?"