"I was discharged, sir," says Cyril. "The proprietor objected to my talking so much to customers. I suppose he was quite right. One of my many failings, sir." "I believe you," says I. "So you took up buttling, eh? Wa'n't that some nervy jump?" "I considered it a helpful step in my career," says he. "Your which?" says I. "Perhaps I should put it," says he, "that the work seemed to offer the discipline which would make me most useful to our noble order." And as he says the last two words he puts his palms at right angles to his ears, thumbs in, and bows three times. "Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "I refer," says Cyril, "to the Brotherhood of the Sacred Owls, which is also named the Sublime Order of Humility and Wisdom." And once more he does the ear wigwag. Believe me, he had us all gaspin'. "Vurra good, Eddie!" says I. "Sacred Owls, eh? What is that—one of these insurance schemes?" "There are both mortuary and sick benefits appertaining to membership," says Cyril, "but our chief aim and purpose is to acquire humility and wisdom. It so happens that I have been named as candidate for Grand Organizer of the East, and at our next solemn conclave, to be held—" "I get you," says I. "I can see where you might find some practice in bein' humble by buttlin', but how about gettin' wise?" "With humility comes wisdom, as our public ritual has it," says Cyril. "In the text-book which I studied—'The Perfect Butler'—there was very little about being humble, however. But my cousin, who conducts an employment agency, assured me that could only be acquired by practice. So he secured me several positions. He was wholly correct. I have been discharged on an average of once a week for the last two months, and on each occasion I have discovered newer and deeper depths of humility." I draws a long breath and gazes admiring at Cyril. Then I turns to the Westlakes. "Westy," says I, "do you want to accommodate Mr. Snee with a fresh chance of perfectin' himself for the Sublime Order?" He nods. So does Doris.
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