`I am very sorry,' I began, `that you and I don't agree --'
`Don't bring me into it!' interposed Betteredge. `This is not a matter of agreement, it's a matter of obedience. Issue your directions, sir -- issue your directions!'
Mr. Blake made me a sign to take him at his word. I `issued my directions' as plainly and as gravely as I could.
`I wish certain parts of the house to be reopened,' I said, `and to be furnished, exactly as they were furnished at this time last year.'
Betteredge gave his imperfectly pointed pencil a preliminary lick with his tongue. `Name the parts, Mr. Jennings!' he said loftily.
`First, the inner hall, leading to the chief staircase.'
`"First, the inner hall,"' Betteredge wrote. `Impossible to furnish that, sir, as it was furnished last year -- to begin with.'
`Why?'
`Because there was a stuffed buzzard, Mr. Jennings, in the hall last year. When the family left, the buzzard was put away with the other things. When the buzzard was put away -- he burst.'
`We will except the buzzard then.'
Betteredge took a note of the exception. `"The inner hall to be furnished again, as furnished last year. A burst buzzard alone excepted." Please go on, Mr. Jennings.'
`The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before.'
`"The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before." Sorry to disappoint you, sir. But that can't be done either.'
`Why not?'
`Because the man who laid that carpet down is dead, Mr. Jennings -- and the like of him for reconciling together a carpet and a corner, is not to be found in all England, look where you may.'
`Very well. We must try the next best man in England.'
Betteredge took another note; and I went on issuing my directions.
`Miss Verinder's sitting-room to be restored exactly to what it was last year. Also, the corridor leading from the sitting-room to the first landing. Also, the second corridor, leading from the second landing to the best bedrooms. Also, the bedroom occupied last June by Mr. Franklin Blake.'
Betteredge's blunt pencil followed me conscientiously, word by word. `Go on, sir,' he said, with sardonic gravity. `There's a deal of writing left in the point of this pencil yet.'
I told him that I had no more directions to give. `Sir,' said Betteredge, `in that case, I have a point or two to put on my own behalf.' He opened his pocket-book at a new page, and gave the inexhaustible pencil another preliminary lick.
`I wish to know,' he began, `whether I may, or may not, wash my hands --'