James Collins
soon became a necessary part of the household machinery, a little cog in
fact upon which the great wheel of tragedy was soon to turn.
Within a week he was completely at home in his new surroundings. Collins,
in fact, was the perfect "gentleman's servant" and thus he liked always
to think himself. Many a word he and Borkins had over their master's
likes and dislikes. But invariably Collins won out. While every other
servant in the place liked him and trusted him, the sight of his honest,
red face and his ginger eyebrows was enough to make Borkins look like a
thundercloud.
The climax was reached one night in the autumn when the evening papers
failed to appear at their appointed time. Collins confronted Borkins with
the fact and got snubbed for his pains.
"'Ere you," he said--he hadn't much respect for Borkins and made no
attempt to hide the fact--"what the dooce 'as become of his lordship's
pypers? 'Ave _you_ bin 'avin' a squint at 'em, ole pieface? Jist like
your bloomin' cheek!"
"Not so much of your impidence, Mr.
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