For a naturally reserved and properly trained servant, Mr. Bates's response was unpardonable. Rising to his feet, he staggered round the table, and falling on his knees in front of the Professor, began feebly groping for the latter's hand. He was sobbing so loudly that it was difficult to hear what he said. It sounded like:
"Thank you—oh, thank you, sir! God bless you, sir!"
For the third time the Professor raised his eyebrows.
"Really, Bates," he said, "a little more self-control, if you please. You must remember that you are a valet now, not a burglar."
A Bit of Old Chelsea
We were strolling through the restful streets of Chelsea when we came suddenly upon a picturesque little tavern close to the Thames. It was half covered with ivy, and from the wooden balcony above, long trailing geraniums hung down and mingled with the dark green leaves. There was a weather-beaten signboard with a picture of a cunning-looking man in a cocked hat. It was called the "Lord Nelson."
"That's a quaint old place," said George carelessly.
"Very," I replied; "so picturesque."
"I wonder what it's like inside. Shall we have a look?"