"Anything," I answered eagerly, "I'd do anything for you, sir!"
He grinned with pleasure, the callow youth. "It's nothing much," he muttered. "Only I want you to tell me exactly how your master is—the state of his health, I mean. I can never get any satisfaction out of him, and I have a lot of friends who want to know." He sighed and frowned.
Post obit bond-holders—was my reflection.
"I don't think he will live very long, sir," I whispered, looking nervously about me. "At night he coughs something dreadful, sir, and he just lives on medicines."
Mr. Sefton Dagmar's face looked for a moment like that of a happy cherub.
"Do you really think so, Brown?" he cried excitedly.
"I'm sure of it, sir."
"Well, see here, Brown, when he dies, I'll make you my man, if you like!"
"Will you really, sir?" I tried to look extravagantly delighted.
"Yes—and I'll give you twice as much screw as you get now, whatever he gives you. But for that I'll expect you to do some things for me in the meanwhile." He looked me keenly in the eyes.