“No, sir, I don’t. When Mr. Roland came in this morning, and said he was really off, you might have knocked me down with a feather. He would often get talking about Port Natal, but I never supposed it would come to anything. Mr. Roland was one given to talk.”
“He had some tea at our house the other night, and was talking about it then,” struck in Mrs. Jenkins. “He said he was worked to death.”
“Worked to death!” satirically repeated Mr. Galloway.
“I’m afraid, sir, that, through my unfortunate absence, he has found the work heavier, and he grew dissatisfied,” said Jenkins. “It has troubled me very much.”
“You spoilt him, Jenkins; that’s the fact,” observed Mr. Galloway. “You did his work and your own. Idle young dog! He’ll get a sickener at Port Natal.”
“There’s one thing to be thankful for, sir,” said patient Jenkins, “that he has his uncle, the earl, to fall back upon.”
“Hark at him!” interrupted Mrs. Jenkins. “That’s just like him! He’d be ‘thankful’ to hear that his worst enemy had an uncle to fall back upon. That’s Jenkins all over. But now, what is to be the next movement?” she sharply demanded. “I must get back to my shop. Is he to come with me, or to stop here—a spectacle for every one that comes in?”
But at this moment, before the question could be decided—though you may rest assured Mrs. Jenkins would only allow it to be decided in her own way—hasty footsteps were heard in the passage, and the door was thrown open by Arthur Channing.