“He was my grandfather's man, and served him in the wars of Queen Anne,” interposed Mr. Warrington. On which my lady cried, petulantly, “O Lord! Queen Anne's dead, I suppose, and we ain't a-going into mourning for her.”
This matter of Lockwood was discussed at the family dinner, when her ladyship announced her intention of getting rid of the old man.
“I am told,” demurely remarks Mr. Van den Bosch, “that, by the laws, poor servants and poor folks of all kinds are admirably provided in their old age here in England. I am sure I wish we had such an asylum for our folks at home, and that we were eased of the expense of keeping our old hands.”
“If a man can't work he ought to go!” cries her ladyship.
“Yes, indeed, and that's a fact!” says grandpapa.
“What! an old servant?” asks my lord.
“Mr. Van den Bosch possibly was independent of servants when he was young,” remarks Mr. Warrington.
“Greased my own boots, opened my own shutters, sanded and watered my own——”
“Sugar, sir?” says my lord.
“No; floor, son-in-law!” says the old man, with a laugh; “though there is such tricks, in grocery stores, saving your ladyship's presence.”