“Young ladies,” said Preston, flourishing his arms preparatory to a speech, “it seems you have settled in a refined and cultivated neighborhood—very! I never knew before why you couldn’t stay at home; but I now see that Laurel Grove is unworthy of you. You pined for the advantages of elevated, intellectual society, such as can be found only at Old Bluff.”
“Buttons,” said Lucy, shaking the broom at him, “we permit no impertinence from servants. Go, pump a pail of water directly, and then you may wipe the dishes.”
Preston “struck an attitude” again.
“Honored ladies, there’s a limit to all things. Buttons will cook, he will answer door-bells, he will scrub, if need be; but wipe dishes he will not, no, not if you flay him alive! Farewell! Once again, farewell!”
“Don’t go, Preston,” entreated Mary, as her brother mounted his “steed,” the bicycle; “do stay to dinner.”
“Couldn’t; might starve.”
“Fie, Buttons,” cried the older girls, “you’re no gentleman!”
“A servant is not expected to be a gentleman.”