"I'm always early, sir, for I live hard by."
"Ha!—well—I wish—."
"Can I do anything for you, sir?" I enquired.
"Why, that's a good thought," said he, and his countenance assumed its usually bland expression. "Let me see—I want to send my carpet-bag, and a message, to my housekeeper."
"I can do it, sir, and be back again in no time," cried I, elated at having an opportunity of obliging the man whom I had really some cause to fear, in the critical situation in which his nephew's thoughtlessness had placed me.
In my eagerness, however, and notwithstanding the political acuteness of my manoeuvre, I got myself into an awful dilemma. Having received the bag, and his message, I walked off, but had scarcely descended a dozen stairs when he recalled me.
"Where the devil are you going?" cried he.
"To your house, sir," I innocently replied.
"What, do you know it, then?" demanded he in surprise.
Here was a position. It was a miracle that I did not roll over the carpet-bag and break my neck, in the confusion of ideas engendered by this simple query.