I like a love-song. Brush away! brush
away! till I see my own pretty face in the blacking. Hey! Here's a nice,
harmless, jolly old man! sings and jokes over his work, and makes the
kitchen quite cheerful. What's that you say? He's a stranger, and don't
talk to him too freely. You ought to be ashamed of yourself to speak in
that way of a poor old fellow with one foot in the grave. Mrs. Cook will
give him a nice bit of dinner in the scullery; and John Footman will
look out an old coat for him. And when he's heard everything he wants to
hear, and doesn't come back again the next day to his work--what do they
think of it in the servants' hall? Do they say, 'We've had a spy among
us!' Yah! you know better than that, by this time. The cheerful old
man has been run over in the street, or is down with the fever, or has
turned up his toes in the parish dead-house--that's what they say in
the servants' hall. Try me in your own kitchen, and see if your servants
take me for a spy. Come, come, Mr. Lawyer! out with your ten pounds, and
don't waste any more precious time about it!"
"I will consider and let you know," said Mr. Troy.
Old Sharon laughed more ferociously than ever, and hobbled round the
table in a great hurry to the place at which Moody was sitting. He laid
one hand on the steward's shoulder, and pointed derisively with the
other to Mr. Troy.
"I say, Mr. Silent-man! Bet you five pounds I never hear of that lawyer
again!"
Silently attentive all through the interview (except when he was
answering questions), Moody only replied in the fewest words.
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