A CHARACTER.
Dear Mr. Punch,—Under the title of "A Bygone" you recently published the tale of a certain estimable butler and his one lapse, during many years' service, into alcoholism. This reminds me of the shorter and sharper history of our own James, who came to our Northern home on a Monday afternoon and left upon the following morning.
For his chief characteristics be referred us, on application, to the opinion of a (Mrs.) Elizabeth Brown, of "The Cottage," Bamston, near Maidstone, Kent, who, he said, knew more about him than anybody else, and would take him back into her service later if need and opportunity arose. This opinion described him briefly but emphatically as honest, sober and willing. By way of the usual caution we wrote to this good lady direct and asked her to be so kind as to elaborate her views to us in confidence. In reply she wrote that James had been with her for eleven years on and off, had left her only because she was leaving "The Cottage," would be welcomed back by her when she settled down again, and meanwhile was very honest, very sober and very willing. There was that about the handwriting and style of this letter which made us feel that the writer might not be one of the old noblesse, but was, at any rate, a kindly, sensible and acute old body, who knew now and always what she was talking about. Moreover it indicated, but did not actually state, that the man had come to be regarded in the writer's household with feelings more friendly than those usually found between employer and employé: always, we thought, a strong recommendation of an old servant. On the strength of this correspondence we decided to give him a trial at least.
There was nothing peculiar about his appearance, except the suggestion of a secret sorrow, which was no business of ours. His willingness was at once apparent: our house being full for a hunt ball there was plenty of work for him to do, but even so he found time between tea and dinner to put in a preliminary polish of the silver, which, he told us, was his chief joy in life, or rather one of them. Moreover he refused to go to bed until our return from the ball, timed not to be earlier than 4 a.m., and insisted that he would sit up for us.
We drove off after dinner without a qualm; for, though my wife declares that she detected a suspicious smell of spirits as he put the carriage rug over her, unhappily she did not think to mention this till the next day. When we got back in the small hours we found that, in accordance with his promise, he had indeed not gone to bed. There he was unmistakably in the hall. But he wasn't sitting up.... No.... Rather, he was lying down, back uppermost.... So much for his sobriety.
We resolved to show no mercy. Having promised to drive Captain Merriman, one of our guests, to the station to catch the early train to London, I was myself up betimes to see the sinful James also off the premises. His sorrow, no longer secret, was very manifest; it was a cold wet morning; it required some strength of mind to cast the fellow adrift and leave him to find his own way, with bag and baggage, to oblivion. But I did it.
One does not leave much margin of time on these occasions, and it was not long afterwards that we followed in the dog-cart; nor had we got far on our road before we espied the back of James ahead of us—one of the saddest backs I have ever seen. He had still four miles to go to the station; his bag was obviously not light; he looked as if he would not get four more yards without collapsing; no doubt he had had an exhaustive night; finally, even that stern disciplinarian, Merriman, took pity. So, "Jump up behind, you old blackguard," I called to him as I drew up alongside, and up he climbed, cling-to his seedy bag and protesting that this was very much more than he deserved.
As to his honesty you, Sir, must judge. The police doubted it from the start, and their experience led them to be sure that the reference was forged, that there was no "Cottage" and no Elizabeth Brown. No doubt he had managed to get our letter delivered to him and had forged an answer to that. On all points they were wrong and James was correct. There was "The Cottage" all right, very much a cottage; it had been vacated by the tenant, not voluntarily (who ever said it had?) but by reason of arrears of six weeks' rent, at 5s. 6d. per week. The tenant's name was truly Elizabeth Brown, though she was more commonly known as Old Bess, and she was the one person to know all about our James, being his wife. And we've no reason to doubt that she has taken him back into her service and was very glad to do it too.
In short, I cannot claim that James lied to us in any particular. So much for his honesty. As far as dishonesty was involved in the matter of the bag, I am not in a position to complain of that, seeing that it was by my agency alone that that bag got to the station, and it was at my expense that our local porter deposited, inter alia, my wife's much valued Georgian tea service and spoons in the London train, just about the time that the theft of them was being discovered at home. Under the guilty circumstances I prefer to remain
Your anonymous
Correspondent.