Am I scrubbing too hard, sir?
N-n-no.
Now, step out on the mat, sir, and I will dry you.
Drains enveloped Harold in a vast towel, patting him a few times; then, taking the two ends of the towel, he walked a few feet away and began fanning the bather with the folds. To conclude the adventure he brought Harold a handsome silk dressing-gown with a figured Persian design, and a copy of the Evening Globe.
Would you prefer another paper, sir? I am not yet acquainted with your tastes.
It doesn't matter. This will do.
Very good, sir. Now will you dress for dinner, or dine in your dressing-gown?
I think . . . Did my father say?
Your father's orders were that you were to do exactly as you pleased, sir.
Harold remembered.
I will stay as I am.
Very good, sir. Now, after I have telephoned Mr. Moody, I will prepare your dinner, sir.
Listening to Drains at the telephone in the bedroom, Harold had an inspiration.
Will you bring me the telephone-book, please, Oliver, he said, as the man hung up the receiver.
Certainly, sir.
Starting to thumb the edges nervously, he was aware that the man still stood before him.
Anything else, sir?
