Story 2—Chapter III.
Mr Barclay thinks for himself.
So another ten years had slipped away; and the house opposite, which had been empty for two years, was getting in very bad condition—I mean as to paper and paint.
“Nobody will take it as it is, Sir John,” the agent said to him in my presence.
“Then it can be left alone,” he says, very gruffly. “Good-morning.”
“Well, Mr Burdon,” said the agent, as I gave him a glass of wine in my pantry, “it’s a good thing he’s so well off; but it’s poison to my mind to see houses lying empty.” Which no doubt it was, seeing he had five per cent on the rents of all he let.
Then Mr Barclay spoke to his father, and he had to go out with a flea in his ear; and when, two days later, Miss Virginia said something about the house opposite looking so miserable, and that it was a pity there were no bills up to say it was to let, Sir John flew out at her, and that was the only time I ever heard him speak to her cross.
But he was so sorry for it, that he sent me to the bank with a cheque directly after, and I was to bring back a new fifty-pound note; and I know that was in the letter I had to give Miss Virginia, and orders to have the carriage round, so that she might go shopping.
Now, I’m afraid you’ll say that Mr Barclay Drinkwater was right in calling me Polonius, and saying I was as prosy as a college don; but if I don’t tell you what brought all the trouble about, how are you to understand what followed? Old men have their own ways; and though I’m not very old, I’ve got mine, and if I don’t tell my story my way, I’m done.