“‘What for, sir?’ I says. ‘They’re right enough. Leastwise, they will be. You leave ’em to me, sir.’
“‘I will, my man,’ he says.
“And then he sits down and sighs. Ever heard him sigh, sir?”
“Yes, often, Jerry.”
“An’ he can sigh! ‘Tired, sir?’ I says.
“‘Yes, and low-spirited,’ he says.
“I didn’t say no more, but puts away the vest as I’d finished, all but pressing it. Then I takes out my cloth, gets his pair of ivory-back brushes, just takes off his dress-jacket, and puts the cloth round his neck, sets him up a bit, and then I brushed his head for about ten minutes—you know my way, sir?”
“Yes, Jerry; I recollect.”
“And there he sat, with the wrinkles going out of his forrid, and a sort o’ baby-like smile coming all over his face.
“‘Find it fresh’ning, sir?’ I says.