as　a　joke　concerning　him；　which　I　may　have　originated；　that　if　he　was　in　the　city　of　Norwich　and　anyone　wished　to　discover　his　whereabouts；　all　they　needed　to　do　was　to　stand　in　the　market…place　for　a　while　to　listen。　Here　is　a　tale　of　that　voice。

My　youngest　brother　Arthur；　now　Major　Haggard；　had　been　lunching　with　him　at　the　Oxford　and　Cambridge　Club　in　Pall　Mall；　and　after　luncheon　bade　him　farewell　on　the　steps　of　the　club　and　went　his　way；　to　Egypt；　I　believe。　Presently　he　heard　a　roar　of　“Arthur！　Arthur！”　and　not　wishing　to　attract　attention　to　himself；　quickened　his　steps。　It　was　the　very　worst　thing　that　he　could　do；　for　the　roars　redoubled。　Arthur　began　to　run；　people　began　to　stare。　Somebody　cried　“Stop　thief！”　Arthur；　now　followed　by　a　crowd　in　which　a　policeman　had　joined；　ran　harder　till　he　was　brought　to　a　stop　by　the　sentry　at　Marlborough　House。　Then　he　surrendered　and　was　escorted　by　the　crowd　back　to　the　Oxford　and　Cambridge　Club。　As　he　approached；　my　father　bellowed　out：

“Don’t　forget　to　give　my　love　to　your　mother。”

Then　amidst　shouts　of　laughter　he　vanished　into　the　club；　and　Arthur　departed　to　catch　the　train　to　Bradenham；　en　route　for　Egypt。

My　father　was　a　typical　squire　of　the　old　sort；　a　kind　of　Sir　Roger　de　Coverley。　He　reigned　at　Bradenham　like　a　king；　blowing　everybody　up　and　making　rows　innumerable。　Yet　I　do　not　think　there　was　a　more　popular　man　in　the　county　of　Norfolk。　Even　the　servants；　whom　he　rated　in　a　fashion　that　no　servant　would　put　up　with　nowadays；　were　fond　of　him。　He　could　send　back　the　soup　with　a　request　to　the　cook　to　drink　it　all　herself；　or　some　other　infuriating　message。　He　could　pull　at　the　bells　until　feet　of　connecting　wire　hung　limply　down　the　wall；　and　announce　when　whoever　it　was　he　wante