up with that," he said again. "I never interferes with
nobody, and nobody don't interfere with me; but what frightens me"--his
voice grew steady, as if too terrified to shake, "is never knowin' day to
day what 's to become of yer. Oh, that 'a dreadful, that is!"

"It must be," answered Shelton.

"Ah! it is," the old man said; "and the winter cumin' on. I never was
much used to open air, bein' in domestic service all my life; but I
don't mind that so long as I can see my way to earn a livin'. Well,
thank God! I've got a job at last"; and his voice grew cheerful
suddenly. "Sellin' papers is not what I been accustomed to; but the
Westminister, they tell me that's one of the most respectable of the
evenin' papers--in fact, I know it is. So now I'm sure to get on; I try
hard."

"How did you get the job?" asked Shelton.

"I 've got my character," the old fellow said, making a gesture with
a skinny hand towards his chest, as if it were there he kept his
character.

"Thank God, nobody can't take that away! I never parts from that"; and
fumbling, he produced a packet, holding first one paper to the light,
and then another, and he looked anxiously at Shelton. "In that house
where I been sleepin' they're not honest; they 've stolen a parcel of my
things--a lovely shirt an' a pair of beautiful gloves a gentleman gave
me for holdin' of his horse. Now, would n't you prosecute 'em, sir?"

"It depends on what you can prove."

"I know they had 'em. A man must stand up for his rights; that's only
proper. I can't afford to lose beautiful things like them. I think I
ought to prosecute, now, don't you, sir?"

Shelton restrained a smile.

"There!" said the old man, smoothing out a piece of paper shakily,
"that's Sir George!" and his withered finger-tips trembled on the middle
of the page: 'Joshua Creed, in my service five years as butler, during
which time I have found him all that a servant should be.' And this
'ere'--he fumbled with another--"this 'ere 's Lady Glengow: 'Joshua
Creed--' I thought I'd like you to read 'em since you've been so kind."

"Will you have a pipe?"

"Thank ye, sir," replied the aged butler, filling his clay from
Shelton's pouch; then, taking a front tooth between his finger and his
thumb, he began to feel it tenderly, working it to and fro with a sort
of melancholy pride.

"My teeth's a-comin' out," he said; "but I enjoys pretty good health for
a man of my age."

"How old is that?"

"Seventy-two!