“What his lordship 'ud be a deal likelier to do,” pursued Joseph, declaiming, in imitation of his supposed interlocutor, with his head through the ladder, and waving the billhook and the saw gently in either hand, “'ud be to say as a poor chap as wanted it might goo up to the Hall kitchen and have a bite—that's what annybody 'ud say in Hey don Hay as happened to be inquired of.”
Joseph's glance dwelt lingeringly and wistfully on his lordship's face as he watched for the effect of his speech. The old earl took snuff with extreme deliberateness.
“Very well, Joseph,” he said, after a pause, “we will arrange it in that way. Sixpence a day. And now and then—now and then, Joseph, you may go and ask Dewson for a little cold meat. There is a great deal of waste in the kitchen. It will make little difference—little difference.”
Things being thus happily arranged, his lordship drew a slip of paper from his pocket and began to study it with much interest as he walked. He began to chuckle, and the fire of strategic triumph lit his aged eyes. The day's itinerary was planned upon that slip of paper, and Lord Barfield had so arranged it that Joseph should carry the ladder all the long distances, while he himself should carry it all the short ones. Joseph on his side was equally satisfied with the arrangement, so far as he knew it, and gave himself up to the sweet influences of fancy. He saw a glorified edition of himself, attired in my lord's cast-off garments, and engaged in the act of stretching out the laced waistcoat in the kitchen at the Hall. The prospect grew so glorious that he could not hold his own joy and gratulation. It welled over in a series of hollow chuckles, and his lordship twinkled dryly as he walked in front, and took snuff with a double gusto.
“We shall begin,” said his lordship, “at Mother Duke's. That laburnum has been an eyesore this many a day. We must be resolute, Joseph. I shall expect you to guard the ladder, and not to let it go, even if she should venture to strike you.”
“Her took me very sharp over the knuckles with the rollin'-pin last time, governor,” said Joseph. “But her'll be no more trouble to thee now; her's gone away.”
“Gone away! Mother Duke gone away?”
“Yes,” mumbled Joseph, “her's gone away. There's a little old maid as lives theer now—has been theer a wick to-day.”
“That's a pity—that's a pity,” said his lordship. “I should have liked another skirmish with Mother Duke. At least, Joseph,” he added, with the air of a man who finds consolation in disappointment, “we'll trim the laburnum this time. At all events, we'll make a fight for it, Joseph—we'll make a fight for it.” Here he took the billhook and the saw from his assistant, and strode on, swinging one of the tools in each hand.
“Theer'll be no need for a fight,” returned Joseph. “Her's no higher than sixpenn'orth o' soap after a hard day's washing.”