This fall of Joe's made him still more nervous of waiting at table, and at last, when he had made some very serious mistakes, I had to speak to him and tell him I was afraid, if he did not soon learn to wait better, I must send him away, for his master was annoyed at the mistakes he made, such as pouring port instead of sherry, giving cold plates when hot ones were required, handing dishes on the wrong side, etc.
My little lecture was listened to quietly and humbly, and Joe had turned to go away, when, to my surprise and distress, he suddenly burst into a perfect passion of tears and sobs.
“I will try and learn myself,” he said, as well as his sobs would let him, “indeed, I will. I know I'm stoopid. I sez to myself every time company comes, 'I'll mind wot I'm about, and remember dishes left-'anded, pour-in's out right, sherry wine's yeller, and port wine afterwards with the nuts, grapes, and things; and the cruits when there's fish, and begin with the strangerest lady next to master's side, and 'elp missus last.' I knows it all, but when they're all sittin' down, and everybody wantin' somethin', I don't know if Jane's a-goin' to giv' it 'em, or I am; and I gets stoopid, and my 'ands shakes, and somehow I can't do nothin'; but please don't send me away. I do like you and the master. I'll ask Jane to learn me better. You see if I don't. Oh, please'm, say you'll try me!”
What could I say but “yes,” and for a day or two Joe did better, but we were a small party, and the waiting was easy; but shortly we were to have a large dinner-party, and as the time drew near, Joe became quite pale and anxious.
About this time, too, I had been awakened at night by curious sounds down-stairs, as of somebody moving about, and once I heard an unmistakable fall of some heavy article.
My husband assured me it was nothing alarming, and he went down-stairs, but could neither hear or see anything unusual. All was quiet.
Another night I felt sure I heard sounds down-stairs; and in spite of my husband's advice to remain still, I called Mrs. Wilson, and entreated her to come down to the kitchen-floor with me. It was so very easy, I knew, for anybody to enter the house from the back, and there being a deep area all round, they could work away with their tools at the ground-floor back windows unseen. Any one could get on the top of the stable from the mews, drop into the garden, and be safe; for the watchman and policeman were on duty in the front of the house only, the back was quite unprotected. True, there were iron bars to Joe's window and the kitchen, but iron bars could be sawed through, and I lived in dread of burglars.
This night Mrs. Wilson and I went softly down, and as we neared the kitchen stairs, I heard a voice say in a whisper, “Make haste!”
“There, Mrs. Wilson, did you hear that?” I said. “Was that imagination?”
“No, ma'am,” she replied; “there's somebody talking, and I believe it's in Joe's room. Let us go up and fetch the master.”