"James Huddesley, sir."
"You have a reference?"
Huddesley produced a worn letter and handed it over. The doctor read it through carefully. It certified that the bearer of this, James Huddesley, was honest, sober and capable; he had lived with the writer four years as butler, and fifteen months as valet and general man.
"This is dated two years back," said the doctor, as he returned it. "Was that your last place?"
"For steady work—yes, sir."
"Why did you leave it? And what have you been doing in the meantime?"
"If you please, sir," said Huddesley, looking down. "Hi've 'ad misfortunes. Hi left 'is lordship, thinkin' to better myself by settin' hup in a small way—in a pub., sir. It was no go, sir, Hi 'adn't 'ad the experience, and Hi didn't like the life. Hi lost my money, hall Hi'd saved hup, and—and——" He hesitated, fingering his hat. "And 'a little that was my wife's, if you'll hexcuse me mentioning my haffairs, sir. Then she went back to 'er people, and—Hi just come away, Hi couldn't stand it."
"I didn't want a married man," said the doctor reluctantly.
"It's just the same as bein' single, sir, beggin' yer parding," said Huddesley, staring out of the window. "She won't never come back to me no more—she said so. And there wasn't any children—'e died, the baby did."