Concerning the Duties of a Valet--And a Man

"And who was the other?"

Peterby took himself by the chin, and, though his mouth was solemn,
the twinkle was back in his eye as he glanced at Barnabas.

"The other, sir," he answered, "was one who, until yesterday, was
reduced to the necessity of living upon poached rabbits."

Here Barnabas stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

"I remember you told me you were the best valet in the world,"
said he.

"It is my earnest desire to prove it, sir."

"And yet," said Barnabas, with his gaze still turned ceiling-wards,
"I would have you--even more than this, Peterby."

"More, sir?"

"I would have you, sometimes, forget that you are only 'the best
valet in the world,' and remember that you are--a man: one in whom I
can confide; one who has lived in this great world, and felt, and
suffered, and who can therefore advise me; one I may trust to in an
emergency; for London is a very big place, they tell me, and my
friends are few--or none--and--do you understand me, Peterby?"

"Sir," said Peterby in an altered tone, "I think I do."

"Then--sit down, John, and let us talk."

With a murmur of thanks Peterby drew up a chair and sat watching
Barnabas with his shrewd eyes.

"You will remember," began Barnabas, staring up at the ceiling again,
"that when I engaged you I told you that I intended to--hum! to--cut
a figure in the fashionable world?"

"Yes, sir; and I told you that,--after what happened in a certain
wood,--it was practically impossible."