LITTLE NOVELS [100]
compelled to undergo one of the minor miseries of human life. In other words I became one of the guests at a large dinner-party. It was a rainy day in October. My position at the table placed me between a window that was open and a door that was hardly ever shut. I went to bed shivering; and woke the next morning with a headache and a difficulty in breathing. On consulting the doctor, I found that I was suffering from an attack of bronchitis. There was no reason to be alarmed. If I remained indoors, and submitted to the necessary treatment, I might hope to keep my engagement with my uncle in ten days or a fortnight.
There was no alternative but to submit. I accordingly arranged with Rothsay that he should present himself at Lord Lepel's house (taking the picture with him), on the date appointed for our visit, and that I should follow as soon as I was well enough to travel.
On the day when he was to leave London, my friend kindly came to keep me company for a while. He was followed into my room by Mrs. Mozeen, with a bottle of medicine in her hand. This worthy creature, finding that the doctor's directions occasionally escaped my memory, devoted herself to the duty of administering the remedies at the prescribed intervals of time. When she left the room, having performed her duties as usual, I saw Rothsay's eyes follow her to the door with an expression of sardonic curiosity. He put a strange question to me as soon as we were alone.
"Who engaged that new servant of yours?" he asked. "I mean the fat fellow, with the curly flaxen hair."
"Hiring servants," I replied, "is not much in my way. I left the engagement of the new man to Mrs. Mozeen."
Rothsay walked gravely up to my bedside.
"Lepel," he said, "your respectable housekeeper is in love with the fat young footman."
It is not easy to amuse a man suffering from bronchitis. But this new outbreak of absurdity was more than I could resist, even with a mustard-plaster on my chest.
"I thought I should raise your spirits," Rothsay proceeded. "When I came to your house this morning, the valet opened the door to me. I expressed my surprise at his condescending to take that trouble. He informed me that Joseph was otherwise engaged. 'With anybody in particular?' I asked, humoring the joke. 'Yes, sir, with the housekeeper. She's teaching him how to brush his hair, so as to show off his good looks to the best advantage.' Make up your mind, my friend, to lose Mrs. Mozeen--especially if she happens to have any money."
"Nonsense, Rothsay! The poor woman is old enough to be Joseph's mother."
"My good fellow, that won't make any difference to Joseph. In the days when we were rich enough to keep a man-servant, our footman--as handsome a fellow as ever you saw, and no older than I am--married a witch with a lame leg. When I asked him why he had made such a fool of himself he looked quite indignant, and said: 'Sir! she has got six hundred pounds.' He and the witch keep a public house. What will you bet me that we don't see your housekeeper drawing beer at the bar, and Joseph getting drunk in the parlor, before we are a year older?"
I was not well enough to prolong my enjoyment of Rothsay's boyish humor. Besides, exaggeration to be really amusing must have some relation, no matter how slender it may be, to the truth. My housekeeper belonged to a respectable family, and was essentially a person accust omed to respect herself. Her brother occupied a position of responsibility in the establishment of a firm of chemists whom I had employed for years past. Her late husband had farmed his own land, and had owed his ruin to calamities for which he was in no way responsible. Kind-hearted Mrs. Mozeen was just the woman to take a motherly interest in a well-disposed lad like Joseph; and it was equally characteristic of my valet--especially when Rothsay was thoughtless enough to encourage him--to pervert an innocent action for the sake of indulging in a stupid jest. I took advantage of my privilege as an invalid, and changed the subject.
A week passed. I had expected
There was no alternative but to submit. I accordingly arranged with Rothsay that he should present himself at Lord Lepel's house (taking the picture with him), on the date appointed for our visit, and that I should follow as soon as I was well enough to travel.
On the day when he was to leave London, my friend kindly came to keep me company for a while. He was followed into my room by Mrs. Mozeen, with a bottle of medicine in her hand. This worthy creature, finding that the doctor's directions occasionally escaped my memory, devoted herself to the duty of administering the remedies at the prescribed intervals of time. When she left the room, having performed her duties as usual, I saw Rothsay's eyes follow her to the door with an expression of sardonic curiosity. He put a strange question to me as soon as we were alone.
"Who engaged that new servant of yours?" he asked. "I mean the fat fellow, with the curly flaxen hair."
"Hiring servants," I replied, "is not much in my way. I left the engagement of the new man to Mrs. Mozeen."
Rothsay walked gravely up to my bedside.
"Lepel," he said, "your respectable housekeeper is in love with the fat young footman."
It is not easy to amuse a man suffering from bronchitis. But this new outbreak of absurdity was more than I could resist, even with a mustard-plaster on my chest.
"I thought I should raise your spirits," Rothsay proceeded. "When I came to your house this morning, the valet opened the door to me. I expressed my surprise at his condescending to take that trouble. He informed me that Joseph was otherwise engaged. 'With anybody in particular?' I asked, humoring the joke. 'Yes, sir, with the housekeeper. She's teaching him how to brush his hair, so as to show off his good looks to the best advantage.' Make up your mind, my friend, to lose Mrs. Mozeen--especially if she happens to have any money."
"Nonsense, Rothsay! The poor woman is old enough to be Joseph's mother."
"My good fellow, that won't make any difference to Joseph. In the days when we were rich enough to keep a man-servant, our footman--as handsome a fellow as ever you saw, and no older than I am--married a witch with a lame leg. When I asked him why he had made such a fool of himself he looked quite indignant, and said: 'Sir! she has got six hundred pounds.' He and the witch keep a public house. What will you bet me that we don't see your housekeeper drawing beer at the bar, and Joseph getting drunk in the parlor, before we are a year older?"
I was not well enough to prolong my enjoyment of Rothsay's boyish humor. Besides, exaggeration to be really amusing must have some relation, no matter how slender it may be, to the truth. My housekeeper belonged to a respectable family, and was essentially a person accust omed to respect herself. Her brother occupied a position of responsibility in the establishment of a firm of chemists whom I had employed for years past. Her late husband had farmed his own land, and had owed his ruin to calamities for which he was in no way responsible. Kind-hearted Mrs. Mozeen was just the woman to take a motherly interest in a well-disposed lad like Joseph; and it was equally characteristic of my valet--especially when Rothsay was thoughtless enough to encourage him--to pervert an innocent action for the sake of indulging in a stupid jest. I took advantage of my privilege as an invalid, and changed the subject.
A week passed. I had expected