“‘No,’ said I to him; ‘if you must go, you shall be conveyed there, but you don’t start without your breakfast.’ So I sat him down in his chair, Mr. Galloway, and gave him his breakfast—such as it was! If there’s one thing that Jenkins is obstinate in, above all others, it’s about eating. Then I sent Lydia for a fly, and wrapped up his throat in my boa—and that he wanted to fight against!—and here he is!”
“I wished to get here, sir, before you did,” cried Jenkins, meekly. “I knew the exertion would set me coughing at first, but, if I had sat awhile before you saw me, I should not have seemed so incapable. I shall be better presently, sir.”
“What are you at with that coat?” tartly asked Mrs. Jenkins. “I declare your hands are never at rest. Your coat’s not to come off, Jenkins. The office is colder than our parlour, and you’ll keep it on.”
Jenkins, humbly obeying, began to turn up the cuffs. “I can do a little writing, sir,” he said to Mr. Galloway, “Is there anything that is in a hurry?”
“Jenkins,” said Mr. Galloway, “I could not suffer you to write; I could not keep you here. Were I to allow you to stop, in the state you are, just to serve me, I should lay a weight upon my conscience.”
Mrs. Jenkins looked up in triumph. “You hear, Jenkins! What did I tell you? I said I’d let you have your way for once—‘twas but the cost of the fly; but that if Mr. Galloway kept you here, once he set eyes on your poor creachy body, I’d eat him.”
“Jenkins, my poor fellow!” said Mr. Galloway, gravely, “you must know that you are not in a state to exert yourself. I shall not forget your kindness; but you must go back at once. Why, the very draught from the frequent opening of the door would do you an injury; the exertion of speaking to answer callers would be too much for you.”
“Didn’t I tell you so, Jenkins, just in them very words?” interrupted the lady.
“I am aware that I am not strong, sir,” acknowledged Jenkins to Mr. Galloway, with a deprecatory glance towards his wife to be allowed to speak. “But it is better I should be put to a trifle of inconvenience than that you should, sir. I can sit here, sir, while you are obliged to be out, or occupied in your private room. What could you do, sir, left entirely alone?”
“I don’t know what I can do,” returned Mr. Galloway, with an acidity of tone equal to that displayed by Mrs. Jenkins, for the question recalled all the perplexity of his position. “Sacrifice yourself to me, Jenkins, you shall not. What absurd folly can have taken off Roland Yorke?” he added. “Do you know?”