To hear him speak in that
sharp, young voice of his was to make the hair upon one's neck prick in
supernatural discomfort. It was as though James Collins had come back to
life again in the form of this East Side youngster, who was so extremely
unlike his drawling, over-pampered master.
But Dollops had been primed for his task, and set to work at it with a
will.
"Been in these 'ere parts long, Mr. Borkins?" he queried as they all sat
at supper, and he himself munched bread and butter and fish paste with a
vigour that was lacking in only one quality--manners.
Borkins sniffed, and passed up his cup to the housekeeper.
"Before you were born, I dessay," he responded tartly.
"Is that so, Methuselah?" Dollops gave a little boyish giggle at sight
of the butler's face. "Well, seein' as I'm gettin' along in life,
you must be a good way parst the meridian, if yer don't mind my sayin'
so.... Funny thing, on the way down I run across a chap wot's visitin'
pals in this 'ere village, and 'e pulls me the strangest yarn as ever a
body 'eard.
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