This contained a sobering suggestion.
“But you said, sir, that—”
“Oh, I'm not going to fire you,” said Tembarom, genially. “I'll 'keep you on', but little Willie is going to put on his own socks. If the servants have to be pacified, you come up to my room and do anything you like. Lie on the bed if you want to; get a jew's-harp and play on it—any old thing to pass the time. And I'll raise your wages. What do you say? Is it fixed?”
“I'm here, sir, to do anything you require,” Pearson answered distressedly; “but I'm afraid—”
Tembarom's face changed. A sudden thought had struck him.
“I'll tell you one thing you can do,” he said; “you can valet that friend of mine.”
“Mr. Strangeways, sir?”
“Yes. I've got a notion he wouldn't mind it.” He was not joking now. He was in fact rather suddenly thoughtful.
“Say, Pearson, what do you think of him?”
“Well, sir, I've not seen much of him, and he says very little, but I should think he was a GENTLEMAN, sir.”