"The steward?"
"Yes."
"Well, if that…" began Killigrew belligerently.
"Dad, either mother and I act as we please, or you may attend to the home-bureau yourself. Mother, it was agreed and understood that I should select any employee we might happen to need."
"It was, my dear."
"Very good. I want some one who will attend to the affairs honestly and painstakingly. There must be no idler about the house; and any young man…"
"Wouldn't an old one do?" suggested Killigrew.
"Whose set ideas would clash constantly with ours. And any young man we know would idle and look on the whole affair as a fine joke. I've had a talk with Webb. He's not a university man, but he's educated. I found him reading Morte d'Arthur."
"Ah!"—from Crawford.
"He became a steward because he could find nothing else to do at the present time. He has been poor, and I dare say he has known the pinch of poverty. You said only this morning, dad, that he was the most attentive steward you had ever met on shipboard. Besides, there is a case in point. Our butler was a steward before you engaged him, six years ago."