"Ah! it is," the old man said; "and the winter cumin' on. I never was much used to open air, bein' in domestic service all my life; but I don't mind that so long as I can see my way to earn a livin'.
Well, thank God! I've got a job at last"; and his voice grew cheerful suddenly. "Sellin' papers is not what I been accustomed to;but the Westminister, they tell me that's one of the most respectable of the evenin' papers--in fact, I know it is. So now I'm sure to get on; I try hard.""How did you get the job?" asked Shelton.
"I 've got my character," the old fellow said, making a gesture with a skinny hand towards his chest, as if it were there he kept his character.
"Thank God, nobody can't take that away! I never parts from that";and fumbling, he produced a packet, holding first one paper to the light, and then another, and he looked anxiously at Shelton. "In that house where I been sleepin' they're not honest; they 've stolen a parcel of my things--a lovely shirt an' a pair of beautiful gloves a gentleman gave me for holdin' of his horse. Now, would n't you prosecute 'em, sir?""It depends on what you can prove."
"I know they had 'em. A man must stand up for his rights; that's only proper. I can't afford to lose beautiful things like them. Ithink I ought to prosecute, now, don't you, sir?"Shelton restrained a smile.
"There!" said the old man, smoothing out a piece of paper shakily, "that's Sir George!" and his withered finger-tips trembled on the middle of the page: 'Joshua Creed, in my service five years as butler, during which time I have found him all that a servant should be.' And this 'ere'--he fumbled with another--"this 'ere 's Lady Glengow : 'Joshua Creed--' I thought I'd like you to read 'em since you've been so kind.""Will you have a pipe?"
"Thank ye, sir," replied the aged butler, filling his clay from Shelton's pouch; then, taking a front tooth between his finger and his thumb, he began to feel it tenderly, working it to and fro with a sort of melancholy pride.
"My teeth's a-comin' out," he said; "but I enjoys pretty good health for a man of my age.""How old is that?"
"Seventy-two! Barrin' my cough, and my rupture, and this 'ere affliction"--he passed his hand over his face--" I 've nothing to complain of; everybody has somethink, it seems. I'm a wonder for my age, I think."Shelton, for all his pity, would have given much to laugh.
"Seventy-two!" he said; "yes, a great age. You remember the country when it was very different to what it is now?""Ah!" said the old butler, "there was gentry then; I remember them drivin' down to Newmarket (my native place, sir) with their own horses. There was n't so much o' these here middle classes then.
There was more, too, what you might call the milk o' human kindness in people then--none o' them amalgamated stores, every man keepin' his own little shop; not so eager to cut his neighbour's throat, as you might say. And then look at the price of bread! O dear! why, it is n't a quarter what it was!""And are people happier now than they were then?" asked Shelton.
The old butler sucked his pipe.
"No," he answered, shaking his old head; "they've lost the contented spirit. I see people runnin' here and runnin' there, readin' books, findin' things out; they ain't not so self-contented as they were.""Is that possible?" thought Shelton.
