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Page 53
The greater the house the more does the butler diverge from this
type. Blandings Castle was one of the more important of England's
show places, and Beach accordingly had acquired a dignified
inertia that almost qualified him for inclusion in the vegetable
kingdom. He moved--when he moved at all--slowly. He distilled
speech with the air of one measuring out drops of some precious
drug. His heavy-lidded eyes had the fixed expression of a
statue's.
With an almost imperceptible wave of a fat white hand, he
conveyed to Ashe that he desired him to sit down. With a stately
movement of his other hand, he picked up a kettle, which simmered
on the hob. With an inclination of his head, he called Ashe's
attention to a decanter on the table.
In another moment Ashe was sipping a whisky toddy, with the
feeling that he had been privileged to assist at some mystic
rite. Mr. Beach, posting himself before the fire and placing his
hands behind his back, permitted speech to drip from him.
"I have not the advantage of your name, Mr.----"
Ashe introduced himself. Beach acknowledged the information with
a half bow.
"You must have had a cold ride, Mr. Marson. The wind is in the
east."
Ashe said yes; the ride had been cold.
"When the wind is in the east," continued Mr. Beach, letting each
syllable escape with apparent reluctance, "I suffer from my
feet."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I suffer from my feet," repeated the butler, measuring out the
drops. "You are a young man, Mr. Marson. Probably you do not know
what it is to suffer from your feet." He surveyed Ashe, his
whisky toddy and the wall beyond him, with heavy-lidded
inscrutability. "Corns!" he said.
Ashe said he was sorry.
"I suffer extremely from my feet--not only corns. I have but
recently recovered from an ingrowing toenail. I suffered greatly
from my ingrowing toenail. I suffer from swollen joints."
Ashe regarded this martyr with increasing disfavor. It is the
flaw in the character of many excessively healthy young men that,
though kind-hearted enough in most respects, they listen with a
regrettable feeling of impatience to the confessions of those
less happily situated as regards the ills of the flesh. Rightly
or wrongly, they hold that these statements should be reserved
for the ear of the medical profession, and other and more general
topics selected for conversation with laymen.
"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "You must have had a bad time. Is
there a large house party here just now?"
"We are expecting," said Mr. Beach, "a number of guests. We shall
in all probability sit down thirty or more to dinner."
"A responsibility for you," said Ashe ingratiatingly, well
pleased to be quit of the feet topic.
Mr. Beach nodded.
"You are right, Mr. Marson. Few persons realize the
responsibilities of a man in my position. Sometimes, I can assure
you, it preys on my mind, and I suffer from nervous headaches."
Ashe began to feel like a man trying to put out a fire which, as
fast as he checks it at one point, breaks out at another.
"Sometimes when I come off duty everything gets blurred. The
outlines of objects grow indistinct and misty. I have to sit down
in a chair. The pain is excruciating."
"But it helps you to forget the pain in your feet."
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