“Ah!” said Mrs. Jenkins, “that’s just what I want to know! As if he could do any good in the state he is! Look at him, sir.”
Poor Jenkins, who was indeed a sight to be looked at, turned his wan face upon Mr. Galloway.
“I cannot do much sir, I know; I wish I could: but I can sit in the office—at least, I hope I can—just to take care of it while you are out, sir, until you can find somebody to replace Mr. Roland.”
“How did you know he was gone off?” demanded Mr. Galloway.
“It was in this way,” interposed Mrs. Jenkins, ages before poor Jenkins could gain breath to answer. “I was on my hands and knees, brushing the fluff off my drawing-room carpet this morning, when I heard something tearing up the stairs at the rate of a coach-and-six. Who should it be but young Mr. Yorke, on his way to Jenkins in bed, without saying so much as ‘With your leave,’ or ‘By your leave.’ A minute or two, and down he came again, gave me a little touch of his impudence, and was gone before I could answer. Well, sir, I kept on at my room, and when it was done I went downstairs to see about the breakfast, never suspecting what was going on with him”—pointing her finger at Jenkins. “I was pouring out his tea when it was ready to take up to him, and putting a bit of something on a plate, which I intended to make him eat, when I heard somebody creeping down the stairs—stumbling, and panting, and coughing—and out I rushed. There stood he—he, Mr. Galloway! dressed and washed, as you see him now! he that has not got up lately till evening, and me dressing him then! ‘Have you took leave of your senses?’ said I to him. ‘No,’ said he, ‘my dear, but I must go to the office to-day: I can’t help myself. Young Mr. Yorke’s gone away, and there’ll be nobody.’ ‘And good luck go with him, for all the use he’s of here, getting you out of your bed,’ said I. If Jenkins were as strong as he used to be, Mr. Galloway, I should have felt tempted to treat him to a shaking, and then, perhaps, he’d have remembered it!”
“Mr. Roland told me he was going away, sir, and that you had nobody to replace him; indeed, I gathered that you were ignorant of the step,” struck in the quiet, meek voice of poor Jenkins. “I could not stay away, sir, knowing the perplexity you would be put to.”
“No, it’s my belief he could not,” tartly chimed in Jenkins’s lady. “He would have tantalized himself into a fever. Why, Mr. Galloway, had I marched him back to his bed and turned the key upon him, he’d have been capable of letting himself down by a cord from his window, in the face and eyes of all the street. Now, Jenkins, I’ll have none of your contradiction! you know you would.”
“My dear, I am not contradicting; I am not well enough to contradict,” panted poor Jenkins.
“He would have come off there and then, all by himself: he would, Mr. Galloway, as I am a living sinner!” she hotly continued. “It’s unbeknown how he’d have got here—holding on by the wall, like a snail, or fastening himself on to the tail of a cart; but try at it, in some way, he would! Be quiet, Jenkins! How dare you attempt to interrupt!”
Poor Jenkins had not thought to interrupt; he was only making a movement to pull off his great-coat. Mrs. Jenkins resumed: