Mr. Painswick accorded this attempt at humour the perfunctory smile it deserved. “Indeed, sir? And who, if you please, will press your coat for you?”
““I suppose they are accustomed to pressing coats at the posting-houses,” said Mr. Beaumaris indifferently.
“If you can call it pressing,” said Mr. Painswick darkly. “Whether you will be pleased with the result, sir, is, if I may be permitted to say so, Another Matter.”
Mr. Beaumaris then said something so shocking that it gave his henchman, as he afterwards reported to Brough, a Very Nasty Spasm. “I daresay I shan’t,” he said, “but it won’t signify.”
Mr. Painswick looked searchingly at him. He did not bear the appearance of one bordering on delirium, but there could be little doubt that his case was serious. Mr. Painswick spoke in the tone of one soothing a refractory patient. “I think, sir, it will be best for me to accompany you.”
“I have already told you that I don’t need you. You may have a holiday.”
“I should not, sir, have the Heart to enjoy it,” returned Mr. Painswick, who invariably spent his holidays in indulging nightmareish visions of his understudy’s sending Mr. Beaumaris forth with his clothes improperly brushed, his boots dulled by neglect, or, worst of all, a speck of mud on the skirts of his driving-coat. “If I may say so without offence, sir, you cannot Go Alone!”
“And if I may say so without offence, Painswick,” retorted Mr. Beaumaris, “you are being foolish beyond permission! I will readily own that you keep my clothes in excellent order—I should not continue to bear with you, if you did not—and that the secret of imparting a gloss to my Hessians, which you so jealously guard, makes you not wholly undeserving of the extortionate wage I pay you; but if you imagine that I am unable to dress myself creditably without your assistance, your powers of self-deception must be greater than even I was aware of! Upon occasion—and merely to reward you!—I have permitted you to shave me; I allow you to help me into my coats, and to hand me my neckcloth. But at no time, Painswick, have I allowed you to dictate to me what I should wear, to brush my hair, or to utter a word—a sound!—while I am engaged in arranging that neckcloth! I shall do very well without you. But you must put up enough neckcloths to allow for some failures.”
Mr. Painswick swallowed these insults, but tried one last, desperate throw. “Your Boots, sir! You will never use a jack! ”
“Certainly not,” said Mr. Beaumaris. “Some menial shall pull them off for me.”