"This is not a
matter of agreement, it's a matter of obedience. Issue your directions,
sir--issue your directions!"

Mr. Blake made me a sign to take him at his word. I "issued my
directions" as plainly and as gravely as I could.

"I wish certain parts of the house to be reopened," I said, "and to be
furnished, exactly as they were furnished at this time last year."

Betteredge gave his imperfectly-pointed pencil a preliminary lick with
his tongue. "Name the parts, Mr. Jennings!" he said loftily.

"First, the inner hall, leading to the chief staircase."

"'First, the inner hall,'" Betteredge wrote. "Impossible to furnish
that, sir, as it was furnished last year--to begin with."

"Why?"

"Because there was a stuffed buzzard, Mr. Jennings, in the hall last
year. When the family left, the buzzard was put away with the other
things. When the buzzard was put away--he burst."

"We will except the buzzard then."

Betteredge took a note of the exception. "'The inner hall to be
furnished again, as furnished last year. A burst buzzard alone
excepted.' Please to go on, Mr. Jennings."

"The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before."

"'The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before.' Sorry to
disappoint you, sir. But that can't be done either."

"Why not?"

"Because the man who laid that carpet down is dead, Mr. Jennings--and
the like of him for reconciling together a carpet and a corner, is not
to be found in all England, look where you may."

"Very well. We must try the next best man in England."

Betteredge took another note; and I went on issuing my directions.

"Miss Verinder's sitting-room to be restored exactly to what it was
last year. Also, the corridor leading from the sitting-room to the first
landing. Also, the second corridor, leading from the second landing to
the best bedrooms. Also, the bedroom occupied last June by Mr. Franklin
Blake."

Betteredge's blunt pencil followed me conscientiously, word by word.
"Go on, sir," he said, with sardonic gravity. "There's a deal of writing
left in the point of this pencil yet."

I told him that I had no more directions to give. "Sir," said
Betteredge, "in that case, I have a point or two to put on my own
behalf." He opened the pocket-book at a new page, and gave the
inexhaustible pencil another preliminary lick.

"I wish to know," he began, "whether I may, or may not, wash my
hands----"

"You may decidedly," said Mr. Blake. "I'll ring for th