"Not quite so long ago as that, Sir Peter."

"Must be, must be; you've been here more than thirty years."

Sir Peter prided himself on his memory, and was a stickler for the actual

fact.

"I'm afraid not, sir." The voice of Vance was charged with melancholy and

delicate regret. "We were only Binks and Co. in those days."

"Nonsense. Why, you measured me yourself, Vance."

"An impossibility, sir."

Mr. Vance leaned against a pillar of cloth, like one requiring support

in a very painful situation. It was agony for him to contradict Sir

Peter. But truth is great. It prevailed.

"I was in the City then, sir, serving my time at Tyson's."

He dropped his eyes. He had crushed Sir Peter with proof, but he was too

polite to be a witness of his discomfiture.

"Tyson's--Tyson's." Sir Peter's tongue uttered the name mechanically. His

mind no longer followed Vance; it was busy with the loveliest woman in

Leicestershire.

Mr. Vance smiled. "I daresay they know that name pretty well in your

county, sir."

"The name," said Sir Peter, blushing a little at his own thoughts, "the

name is not uncommon."

"It's the same family, though, sir."

"Really--" Sir Peter was a little startled this time--"you don't mean to

say--"

"Yes. It was a small firm, was Tyson's. But they're big people, I fancy,

by now. Old Mr. Tyson left 'em and set up by himself in the wholesale

business in Birmingham. He made a mint o' money. I understand he bought

one of the best properties in your county; is that so, sir?"

If Mr. Vance had not made coats for Sir Peter for thirty years, he had

made them for twenty-five or thereabouts, and he was privileged to

gossip.

"Yes, yes, Thorneytoft. Very good property. And a very good sort too, old

Mr. Tyson."

"A little peculiar, I'm told."

"Well--perhaps. I had not much acquaintance with the old man myself,

but he was very generally respected. I know his nephew, Mr. Nevill

Tyson--slightly."

Sir Peter would have died rather than ask a direct question, but he was

wildly curious as to Mr. Nevill Tyson's antecedents.

An illuminating smile spread over Mr. Vance's face.

"I remember him when he was a youngster. His father chucked the

business, and set up as a Baptist minister--a Particular Baptist."

"Indeed."

"An uncommonly clever fellow, Nevill Tyson; sharp as needles. But they

couldn't bring him up to the business, nor the ministry."

"Hardly good enough for him, I should imagine."

"Well--no. It wasn't a house with any standing in his time. He'd got

ideas in his head, too. Nothing but a 'Varsity education suited his

book."

"Ah, that always tells."

"His father was very much against it. He knew the young rascal. And just

when he was at the top of the tree, as you may say, sure enough he made

off--goodness knows where."




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