Thereby Hangs a Tale

“Ed—Ward!” “Yes, mum.” A stiff, high-shouldered footman turned round as he reached the breakfast-room door. “Are you sure Sir Hampton has been called?” “Yes, mum.” “And did Smith take up her ladyship’s hot water?” “Yes, mum.” “Are the young ladies coming down?” “They went out for a walk nearly an hour ago, mum.” “Dear me! and such a damp morning, too! Did they take their waterproofs?” “Please, ’m, I didn’t see them go.” “Look if they’re hanging in the hall, Edward.” “Yes, mum.” Edward walked stiffly out, closed the door, “made a face” at it, and returned at the end of a minute. “Waterproofs hanging on the pegs, mum.” “Dear, dear, dear, dear! Then of course they put on their goloshes! Go and see if they’re in the lobby, Edward.” “Did see, mum,” said Edward, who was wise in his generation, and had learned the art of making his head save his heels—“goloshes is in the lobby.” “Goloshes is in the plural, Edward, and should be are—mind that: goloshes are.” “Yes, mum—galoshes are,” said Edward; “and the letter-bag are just come into the kitchen. Shall I fetch it?” “Is, Edward, is. Now do, pray, be careful. Nothing is more annoying to visitors than to hear servants make grammatical mistakes.” “Yes, mum,” said Edward. “Is the heater very hot?” “Yes, mum—white ’ot.” “White what, Edward?” “’Ot, mum! white ’ot!” Miss Matilda Rea, a rather compressed, squeezy lady of forty-five, shuddered, and rearranged her black net mittens. “Go and fetch the letter-bag, Ed-ward.”