“That’s me, Sir John. I haven’t been neither sick nor sorry all the five years I’ve been with you, ’cept that time when I cut my hand with the broken decanter.”
“An outdoor servant,” continued Sir John, rather sternly, passing over his man’s interruption—“a man with something of the gamekeeper about him—a man who can tramp through woods, carry rifles and guns, and clean them; use a fishing-net or line; row, chop wood and make a fire; set up a tent or a hut of boughs; cook, and very likely skin birds and beasts. In short, make himself generally useful.”
“And valet you and Mr Jack, Sir John,” interposed the man.
“Certainly not, Edward; we shall leave all those civilised luxuries behind. You see I want a thorough outdoor servant, not such a man as you.”
“Beg pardon, Sir John,” cried the man promptly; “but it’s me you do want, I’m just the sort you said.”
“You?” said Sir John, smiling rather contemptuously.
“Yes, Sir John. I was meant for an outdoor man, only one can’t get to be what one likes, and so I had to take to indoor.”
Sir John shook his head.
“You are a very excellent servant, Edward,” he said, “and I shall have great pleasure in giving you a very strong recommendation for cleanliness and thorough attention to your duties. I cannot recall ever having to find fault with you.”
“Never did, Sir John, I will say that; and do you think I’m going to leave such a master as you and Mr Jack here, though he does chuck big books at me!” he said with a grin. “Not me.”