“Rather good change, don’t you think?”
“Splendid,” said Phillips. “That fellow served the dinner like a prince.”
“I don’t believe he’s any more than a duke, though,” said Bradley. “His manner was quite ducal—in fact, too ducal, if Perkins will let me criticise. He made me feel like a poor, miserable, red-blooded son of the people. I wanted an olive, and, by Jove, I didn’t dare ask for it.”
“That wasn’t his fault,” said Robinson, with a laugh. “You forget that you live in a country where red blood is as good as blue. Where did you get him, Thaddeus?”
Thaddeus looked like a rat in a corner with a row of cats to the fore.
“Oh!—we—er—we got him from—dear me! I never can remember. Mrs. Perkins can tell you, though,” he stammered. “She looks after the menagerie.”
“What’s his name?” asked Phillips.
Thaddeus’s mind was a blank. He could not for the life of him think what name a butler would be likely to have, but in a moment he summoned up nerve enough to speak.
“Grimmins,” he said, desperately.
“Sounds like a Dickens’ character,” said Robinson. “Does he cost you very much, Thad?”