|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 58
He looked at Mr. Peters sternly. He had ceased to be intimidated
by the fiery little man and regarded him simply as a
hypochondriac, who needed to be told a few useful facts.
"How do you expect not to have indigestion? You take no exercise
and you smoke all day long."
The novel sensation of being criticized--and by a beardless youth
at that--held Mr. Peters silent. He started convulsively, but he
did not speak. Ashe, on his pet subject, became eloquent. In his
opinion dyspeptics cumbered the earth. To his mind they had the
choice between health and sickness, and they deliberately chose
the latter.
"Your sort of man makes me angry. I know your type inside out.
You overwork and shirk exercise, and let your temper run away
with you, and smoke strong cigars on an empty stomach; and when
you get indigestion as a natural result you look on yourself as a
martyr, nourish a perpetual grouch, and make the lives of
everybody you meet miserable. If you would put yourself into my
hands for a month I would have you eating bricks and thriving on
them. Up in the morning, Larsen Exercises, cold bath, a brisk
rubdown, sharp walk--"
"Who the devil asked your opinion, you impertinent young hound?"
inquired Mr. Peters.
"Don't interrupt--confound you!" shouted Ashe. "Now you have made
me forget what I was going to say."
There was a tense silence. Then Mr. Peters began to speak:
"You--infernal--impudent--"
"Don't talk to me like that!"
"I'll talk to you just--"
Ashe took a step toward the door. "Very well, then," he said.
"I'll quit! I'm through! You can get somebody else to do this job
of yours for you."
The sudden sagging of Mr. Peters' jaw, the look of consternation
that flashed on his face, told Ashe he had found the right
weapon--that the game was in his hands. He continued with a
feeling of confidence:
"If I had known what being your valet involved I wouldn't have
undertaken the thing for a hundred thousand dollars. Just because
you had some idiotic prejudice against letting me come down here
as your secretary, which would have been the simple and obvious
thing, I find myself in a position where at any moment I may be
publicly rebuked by the butler and have the head stillroom maid
looking at me as though I were something the cat had brought in."
His voice trembled with self-pity.
"Do you realize a fraction of the awful things you have let me in
for? How on earth am I to remember whether I go in before the
chef or after the third footman? I shan't have a peaceful minute
while I'm in this place. I've got to sit and listen by the hour
to a bore of a butler who seems to be a sort of walking hospital.
I've got to steer my way through a complicated system of
etiquette.
"And on top of all that you have the nerve, the insolence, to
imagine that you can use me as a punching bag to work your bad
temper off! You have the immortal rind to suppose that I will
stand for being nagged and bullied by you whenever your suicidal
way of living brings on an attack of indigestion! You have the
supreme gall to fancy that you can talk as you please to me!
"Very well! I've had enough of it. I resign! If you want this
scarab of yours recovered let somebody else do it. I've retired
from business."
He took another step toward the door. A shaking hand clutched at
his sleeve.
"My boy--my dear boy--be reasonable!"
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|