“They’re all the same,” he lamented. “Eat, eat, eat. Nothin’ but eat. Eat all day an’ eat all night. ’E’s not bin in the ’ouse two minutes an’ ’e’s at it. Eat! eat! eat! ’E’ll ’ave all the buttons bust off his uniform in a week like wot the larst one ’ad. Like eatin’ better than workin’, don’t you?” he said sarcastically to William.
“Yes, I do, too,” said William with firm conviction.
The kitchen-maid giggled again, and the housemaid gave a sigh expressive of scorn and weariness as she drew a thin pencil over her eyebrows.
“Well, if you’ve quite finished, my lord,” said the butler in ponderous irony, “I’ll show you to your room.”
William indicated that he had quite finished, and was led up to a very small bed-room. Over a chair lay a page’s uniform with the conventional row of brass buttons down the front of the coat.
“Togs,” explained the butler briefly. “Your togs. Fix ’em on quick as you can. There’s company to dinner to-night.”
William fixed them on.
“You’re smaller than wot the last one was,” said the butler critically. “They ’ang a bit loose. Never mind. With a week or two of stuffin’ you’ll ’ave most probable bust ’em, so it’s as well to ’ang loose first. Now, come on. ’Oo’s bringing over your things?”
“E—a friend,” explained William.
“I suppose it is a bit too much to expeck you to carry your own parcels,” went on the butler, “in these ’ere days. Bloomin’ Bolshevist, I speck, aren’t you?”