Lippincotts Magazine, July 1885 | Page 3

Sir Robert, "but quite without success. I
think he finds my correspondence a little dull sometimes, as compared
with that of a former place. He came to me from the greatest scamp in
England; and I can fancy that the letters there were very various and
diverting. My own must be altogether too ponderous and respectable
for a taste formed on sensational models."
"Well, all I have got to say is that if I caught a servant of mine at that
little game I'd make my letters uncommonly interesting reading to him;
and if the style suited him, I'd see that he got a little leisure in the
penitentiary to copy them and impress them on his mind. Do you mean
to say that you don't even discharge them for it?" said Mr. Ketchum, "I
never heard anything like it!"
"One could discharge the culprit easily enough; the trouble is that his
successor or successors would do exactly the same thing," replied Sir
Robert. "When the Barons rose, they neglected to provide a remedy for
an unforeseen nuisance, and I suppose this literary partnership of
Master & Servant, Limited, will always exist. I wrote a note once to
Beazely (my man), addressed to myself, and told him that if he
disapproved of the Conservative tone of my correspondence, as was
likely, seeing that he was a Radical, I would make an effort to get at
Dilke or Bright, with a view to an occasional note at least. The
envelope had been resealed, I saw when it reached me, but Beazely had
no more expression in his face than the Sphinx. My letters, however,
were not tampered with for about a week."
Mrs. Ketchum senior became fluent in her amazement: "How perfectly
dreadful! Good gracious! What did you do about your husband's letters?
The idea of sharing his letters with a servant!"

She was addressing Mrs. Sykes, who said very cheerfully in reply, "Oh,
there was never anything in his letters, except warnings to put the
servants at board-wages before I went away, and look to expenditures,
and not ask him for any more money soon. I didn't mind much. I was
rather ashamed of the spelling,--that was all. Poor dear Guy never could
spell, and I never read anything so dull as his letters,--the same thing
over and over again, till it hardly seemed worth while to open them,
only for knowing what he was up to, or when he was coming. How my
poor sisters did laugh one Christmas when I got a letter from him in
Italy, saying, 'The cole here is intense; but I have got a projick in my
head, which is to get back to England as fast as rale and steme can
possibly carry me'! It wasn't often that bad; but there was always
something wrong. I can't think how it is, for he had no end of tutors and
masters, except that he certainly was a very thick-headed fellow." She
laughed merrily over the epistolary deficiencies of her late lord as she
spoke, and every one joined her except Mrs. Ketchum, who was too
shocked to countenance her.
"I saw Parsons in the very act of opening your letters this morning as I
was roaming around in my Jesuit creepers, and thought you would be
horrified; but it seems to be all right," said Mr. Ketchum, glancing
down at his slippers. "Suppose, now, we have some breakfast: it is late.
We haven't nearly as much time as the patriarchs, anyway, and so much
more use for it."
"I have been thinking it would never be ready," said Mrs. Sykes.
"And I am quite ready for it. Isn't that a nice new-laid egg for me?"
asked Miss Noel, taking her place with the others.
"Mabel, eggs for Miss Noel every morning, if she likes them, and don't
you forget it," said Mr. Ketchum. "'Trouble'? Not the least that ever
was. I have them for myself always. An egg for me must be like
Caesar's wife, --above suspicion. I have provided myself with a
conscientious High-Church hen that lays one every day of the year;
though how she can think it worth her while, when they are selling for
ten cents a dozen, I can't imagine.--What's the matter, Heathcote?"
The matter was the "Jesuit creepers" and the hen combined, which had
sent all the party into a little fit of laughter, from which Mr. Heathcote
could not recover.
"I don't see anything to double you up like a jack-knife," said Mr.

Ketchum, in allusion to his guest's way of stooping over and having the
laughs, as it were, shaken out of him by a superior force, while he got
out at intervals,--
"Jest--creep--High--such a fellow!" in staccato jerks that made every
one else laugh from sympathy.
"I