“And, if I do, Sir Cradock Nowell, Iʼd sooner forget myself than my children.”
Sir Cradock was very angry, or was trying to feel that he ought to be so, when a heavy tread, quite unmistakable, and yet not so firm as it used to be, shook the Minton tiles of the passage. That step used to cry to the echoes, “Make way; a man of vigour and force is coming.” Now all it said was, “Here I go, and am not in a mood to be meddled with.”
“Come in,” said Sir Cradock, fidgeting, and pretending to be up for an egg, as Mr. Garnet gave two great thumps on the panel of the door. Small as the room was, Job Hogstaff managed to be too late to let him in.
Bull Garnet first flung his great eyes on the butler; he had no idea of fellows skulking their duty. Old Hogstaff, who looked upon Garnet as no more than an upper servant, gazed back with especial obtuseness, and waved his napkin cleverly.
“Please to put that mat straight again, Mr. Garnet. You kicked it askew, as you came in. And our master canʼt abide things set crooked.”
To Jobʼs disappointment and wonder, Bull Garnet stepped back very quietly, stooped down, and replaced the sheepskin.
“Hogstaff, leave the room this moment,” shouted Sir Cradock, wrathfully; and Job hobbled away to brag how he had pulled Muster Garnet down a peg.
“Now, Garnet, take my easy–chair. Will you have a cup of coffee after your early walk?”
“No, thank you. I have breakfasted three hours and a half ago. In our position of life, we must be up early, Sir Cradock Nowell.”