The Attache, page 19 by Thomas Chandler Haliburton
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, for there is no sarvants agin. The rule here is, no talk no sarvants--and when it's all talk, it's all sarvants.
"Thinks I to myself, 'now, what shall I do till dinner-time, for it rains so there is no stirrin' out?--Waiter, where is eldest son?--he and I will have a game of billiards, I guess.'
"'He is laying down, sir.'
"'Shows his sense,' sais I, 'I see, he is not the fool I took him to be. If I could sleep in the day, I'de turn in too. Where is second son?'
"'Left this mornin' in the close carriage, sir.'
"'Oh cuss him, it was him then was it?'
"'What, Sir?'
"'That woke them confounded rooks up, out o' their fust nap, and kick't up such a bobbery. Where is the Parson?'
"'Which one, Sir?'
"'The one that's so fond of fishing.'
"'Ain't up yet, Sir.'
"'Well, the old boy, that wore breeches.'
"Out on a sick visit to one of the cottages, Sir.'
"When he comes in, send him to me, I'm shockin' sick.'
"With that I goes to look arter the two pretty galls in the drawin' room; and there was the ladies a chatterin' away like any thing. The moment I came in it was as dumb as a quaker's meetin'. They all hauled up at once, like a stage-coach to an inn-door, from a hand-gallop to a stock still stand. I seed men warn't wanted there, it warn't the custom so airly, so I polled out o' that creek, starn first. They don't like men in the mornin', in England, do the ladies; they think 'em in the way.
"'What on airth, shall I do?' says I, 'it's nothin' but rain, rain, rain--here in this awful dismal country. Nobody smokes, nobody talks, nobody plays cards, nobody fires at a mark, and nobody trades; only let me get thro' this juicy day, and I am done: let me get out of this scrape, and if I am caught agin, I'll give you leave to tell me of it, in meetin'. It tante pretty, I do suppose to be a jawin' with the butler, but I'll make an excuse for a talk, for talk comes kinder nateral to me, like suction to a snipe.'
"'Waiter?