They replied with
politeness that, judging from the number of applications received, they
must be the million in search of domestics.
Returning home from the Bureau, I found Elizabeth studying a time-table.
'I see it's a 'undred and eighty-three miles to Manchester,' she
commented, 'an' the fare's 15s. 5 1/2d.'
'That's an old time-table you've got,' I hastened to remark, 'it is now
L2 13s. 7 1/2d.--return fare.'
'I shan't want no return ticket,' said Elizabeth grimly.
Sickening outlook, wasn't it?
* * * * * *
The day of my dinner-party dawned fair and bright, but Elizabeth was
raging. Things got so bad, in fact, that about mid-day I decided I
must telephone to the Boscombes and tell them Henry had suddenly been
taken ill; and I was just looking up the doctor's book to find
something especially virulent and infectious for Henry, when Elizabeth
came in. Amazing to relate, her face was wreathed in smiles.
'They've sent from the Domestic Boorow,' she began.
'What!' I exclaimed, 'did they get me a waitress after all?'
She smirked. 'They've sent a man this time. A footman 'e was before
the War, but 'e didn't take it up again arter 'e was demobbed. Just
now, bein' out of a job 'e's takin' tempory work and-----'
'He seems to have told you quite a lot about himself already,' I
interposed.
She smirked again. 'I 'adn't been talkin' to 'im ten minutes afore 'e
arsked me wot was my night out.
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