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He was, however, a Londoner, born and bred, as his fathers had been before him for many a generation; but, as they had always had enough and to spare for beef and mutton and bacon, the heather of Wales and the pannage of the New Forest had helped to build their bones; besides, it was not so very long ago that cits could go a-maying without being late for ’Change; and then, there is the Cockney’s dream of catching, one day before he dies, the piscis rarus—a Thames trout—a dream which, though it never be realised, maketh him to lie down in green pastures and leadeth him beside the still waters.

As to Dick, he liked cricket, and the smell of manure and of freshly-cut hay, he liked pigs, and he liked wide, quiet vistas; but he liked them as a background to his prosaic and quietly regulated activities—much as a golfer, though mainly occupied with the progress of the game, subconsciously is not indifferent to the springy turf aromatic with thyme and scabious, nor to the pungent breezes from the sea, nor to the sweep of the downs.