The Observations of Henry

“‘I’ve been a bad husband to you, Susan,’ begins he.

“‘I could have told you that,’ she answers. ‘What I asked you was what you wanted.’

“‘I want for us to let bygones be bygones,’ says he.

“‘That’s quite my own idea,’ says she, ‘and if you don’t allude to the past, I shan’t.’

“‘You’re an angel, Susan,’ says he.

“‘I’ve told you once,’ answers she, ‘that my name’s Mrs. Wrench. I’m Susan to my friends, not to every broken-down tramp looking for a job.’

“‘Ain’t I your husband?’ says he, trying a bit of dignity.

“She got up and took a glance through the glass-door to see that nobody was there to overhear her.

“‘For the first and last time,’ says she, ‘let you and me understand one another. I’ve been eleven years without a husband, and I’ve got used to it. I don’t feel now as I want one of any kind, and if I did it wouldn’t be your sort. Eleven years ago I wasn’t good enough for you, and now you’re not good enough for me.’

“‘I want to reform,’ says he.

“‘I want to see you do it,’ says she.

“‘Give me a chance,’ says he.

“‘I’m going to,’ says she; ‘but it’s going to be my experiment this time, not yours. Eleven years ago I didn’t give you satisfaction, so you turned me out of doors.’

“‘You went, Susan,’ says he; ‘you know it was your own idea.’

“‘Don’t you remind me too much of the circumstances,’ replies she, turning on him with a look in her eyes that was probably new to him, ‘I went because there wasn’t room for two of us; you know that. The other kind suited you better. Now I’m going to see whether you suit me,’ and she sits herself again in her landlady’s chair.

“‘In what way?’ says he.

“‘In the way of earning your living,’ says she, ‘and starting on the road to becoming a decent member of society.’

“He stood for a while cogitating.

“‘Don’t you think,’ says he at last, ‘as I could manage this hotel for you?’

“‘Thanks,’ says she; ‘I’m doing that myself.’

“‘What about looking to the financial side of things,’ says he, ‘and keeping the accounts? It’s hardly your work.’

“‘Nor yours either,’ answers she drily, ‘judging by the way you’ve been keeping your own.’

“‘You wouldn’t like me to be head-waiter, I suppose?’ says he. ‘It would be a bit of a come-down.’

“‘You’re thinking of the hotel, I suppose,’ says she. ‘Perhaps you are right. My customers are mostly an old-fashioned class; it’s probable enough they might not like you. You had better suggest something else.’

“‘I could hardly be an under-waiter,’ says he.

“‘Perhaps not,’ says she; ‘your manners strike me as a bit too familiar for that.’

“Then he thought he’d try sarcasm.

“‘Perhaps you’d fancy my being the boots,’ says he.

“‘That’s more reasonable,’ says she. ‘You couldn’t do much harm there, and I could keep an eye on you.’

“‘You really mean that?’ says he, starting to put on his dignity.

“But she cut him short by ringing the bell.

“‘If you think you can do better for yourself,’ she says, ‘there’s an end of it. By a curious coincidence the place is just now vacant. I’ll keep it open for you till to-morrow night; you can turn it over in your mind.’ And one of the page boys coming in she just says ‘Good-morning,’ and the interview was at an end.

“Well, he turned it over, and he took the job. He thought she’d relent after the first week or two, but she didn’t. He just kept that place for over fifteen months, and learnt the business. In the house he was James the boots, and she Mrs. Wrench the landlady, and she saw to it that he didn’t forget it. He had his wages and he made his tips, and the food was plentiful; but I take it he worked harder during that time than he’d ever worked before in his life, and found that a landlady is just twice as difficult to please as the strictest landlord it can be a man’s misfortune to get under, and that Mrs. Wrench was no exception to the rule.

“At the end of the fifteen months she sends for him into the office. He didn’t want telling by this time; he just stood with his hat in his hand and waited respectful like.

“‘James,’ says she, after she had finished what she was doing, ‘I find I shall want another waiter for the coffee-room this season. Would you care to try the place?’

“‘Thank you, Mrs. Wrench,’ he answers; ‘it’s more what I’ve been used to, and I think I’ll be able to give satisfaction.’

“‘There’s no wages attached, as I suppose you know,’ continues she; ‘but the second floor goes with it, and if you know your business you ought to make from twenty-five to thirty shillings a week.’

“Thank you, Mrs. Wrench; that’ll suit me very well,’ replies he; and it was settled.

“He did better as a waiter; he’d got it in his blood, as you might say; and so after a time he worked up to be head-waiter. Now and then, of course, it came about that he found himself waiting on the very folks that he’d been chums with in his classy days, and that must have been a bit rough on him. But he’d taken in a good deal of sense since then; and when one of the old sort, all rings and shirt-front, dining there one Sunday evening, started chaffing him, Jimmy just shut him up with a quiet: ‘Yes, I guess we were both a bit out of our place in those days. The difference between us now is that I have got back to mine,’ which cost him his tip, but must have been a satisfaction to him.

“Altogether he worked in that hotel for some three and a half years, and then Mrs. Wrench sends for him again into the office.

“‘Sit down, James,’ says she.

“‘Thank you, Mrs. Wrench,’ says James, and sat.

“‘I’m thinking of giving up this hotel, James,’ says she, ‘and taking another near Dover, a quiet place with just such a clientele as I shall like. Do you care to come with me?’

“‘Thank you,’ says he, ‘but I’m thinking, Mrs. Wrench, of making a change myself.’

“‘Oh,’ says she, ‘I’m sorry to hear that, James. I thought we’d been getting on very well together.’

“‘I’ve tried to do my best, Mrs. Wrench,’ says he, ‘and I hope as I’ve given satisfaction.’

“‘I’ve nothing to complain of, James,’ says she.

“‘I thank you for saying it,’ says he, ‘and I thank you for the opportunity you gave me when I wanted it. It’s been the making of me.’

“She didn’t answer for about a minute. Then says she: ‘You’ve been meeting some of your old friends, James, I’m afraid, and they’ve been persuading you to go back into the City.’

“‘No, Mrs. Wrench,’ says he; ‘no more City for me, and no more neighbourhood of Grosvenor Square, unless it be in the way of business; and that couldn’t be, of course, for a good long while to come.’