“Eh? What?” asked Sam sleepily. “Oh, that you, Perkins? What’s wanted?”
“I’m after the tray, sir.” The key turned and Perkins opened the door cautiously.
“Oh, all right. Come in and get it.”
“I’d rather you’d hand it to me,” replied Perkins dubiously, realizing that if he crossed the room for the tray Sam could easily slip out of the door.
Sam considered. He didn’t want the stableman to notice the screen, now hanging bent and awry at the window, and so the only thing to do was to get him out as soon as possible. Sam arose, grumbling.
“You might at least let a fellow sleep, Perkins.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Here’s your tray.” Sam picked it up and carried it to the door.
“Just set it down, if you please, sir, on the chair. Thank you, sir. I hope you enjoyed your dinner.”
“So, so,” replied Sam with a yawn, retreating again to the bed. “What time is it, Perkins?”