"Anybody called, Jacob?"
"No, sir; nobody's called, sir," replied the old man in a squeaky voice.
"You may close the door, Jacob, and sit down. I want to have a word with you."
The aged retainer shut the door, and stood near the table, opposite his master, fully prepared to receive a reprimand for having performed his work unsatisfactorily.
"Sit down, Jacob; we must have a serious talk."
Surprised at these unusual words, the old man seated himself upon the edge of a chair, waiting for his master to commence.
"Look here, Jacob," said Trethowen; "you and I will have to part."
"Eh? what? Master Hugh? Have I done anything wrong, sir? If I have, look over it, for I'm an old man, and"—
"Hush, you've done nothing wrong, Jacob; you've been a good servant to me—very good. The fact is, I'm ruined."
"Ruined, Master Hugh? How, sir?"
"Well, do you ever take an interest in racing?"
"No, sir; I never do, sir."
"Ah, I thought not. Fossils such as you do not know a racehorse from a park-hack. The truth is, I've chucked away nearly every farthing I possess upon the turf and the card-table; therefore I am compelled to go somewhere out of the reach of those confounded duns. You understand? When I'm gone they'll sell up this place."
"Will the furniture be sold, sir? Oh, don't say so, Master Hugh!" exclaimed the old servant, casting a long glance around the room.
"Yes; and, by Jove, they'd sell you, too, Jacob, only I suppose such a bag of bones wouldn't fetch much."
