“It’s—it’s not right,” murmured Allenby unhappily. He threw off his black coat suddenly, and advanced upon Jim. “If you please, sir, I’ll finish that stove.”
“That you won’t,” said Jim. “Thanks all the same, Allenby, but I’m getting used to it now.” He laughed. “Besides, don’t you forget that you’re a butler?”
“I can’t forget that you’re an officer, sir,” said Allenby, wretchedly. “It’s not right: think of the regiment. And Miss Norah. Won’t you let me ’elp sir?”
“You can clean the paint, Allenby,” said Norah, taking pity on his distressed face. “But there’s really no need to keep you.”
“If you’d only not mind telling any of them at the ’ouse what I was doing,” said the butler anxiously. “It ’ud undermine me position. There’s that Miss de Lisle, now—she looks down on everybody enough without knowin’ I was doin’ any job like this.”
“She shall never know,” said Jim tragically, waving a blacklead brush. “Now I’m off to do the dining-room grate. If you’re deadly anxious to work, Allenby, you could wash this floor—couldn’t he, Norah?”
“Thanks very much, sir,” said Allenby gratefully, “I’ll leave this place all right—just shut the door, sir, and don’t you bother about it any more.”
“However did you dare, Jim?” breathed Norah, as the cleaning party moved towards the dining-room. “Do you think a butler ever washed a floor before?”
“Can’t say,” said Jim easily. “I’m regarding him more as a sergeant than a butler, for the moment—not that I can remember seeing a sergeant wash a floor, either. But he seemed anxious to help, so why not let him? It won’t hurt him; he’s getting disgracefully fat. And there’s plenty to do.”
“Heaps,” said Wally cheerily. “Where’s that floor-polish, Nor? These boards want a rub. What are you going to do?”