The fury that had been subdued by a momentary awe of Mr. Mergleson revived and gathered force. Young Bealby’s face became scarlet, his eyes filled with tears and his mind with the need for movement. After all,—he wouldn’t stand it. He turned round abruptly and made for the door. “Where’n earth you going to?” cried Mr. Mergleson. “He’s shy!” cried the second footman. “Steady on!” cried the first footman and had him by the shoulder in the doorway. “Lemme _go_!” howled the new recruit, struggling. “I won’t be a blooming servant. I won’t.” “Here!” cried Mr. Mergleson, gesticulating with his teaspoon, “bring ’im to the end of the table there. What’s this about a blooming servant?” Bealby, suddenly blubbering, was replaced at the end of the table. “May I ask what’s this about a blooming servant?” asked Mr. Mergleson. Sniff and silence. “Did I understand you to say that you ain’t going to be a blooming servant, young Bealby?” “Yes,” said young Bealby. “Thomas,” said Mr. Mergleson, “just smack ’is ’ed. Smack it rather ’ard....” Things too rapid to relate occurred. “So you’d _bite_, would you?” said Thomas.... “Ah!” said Mr. Mergleson. “_Got_ ’im! That one!” ... “Just smack ’is ’ed once more,” said Mr. Mergleson.... “And now you just stand there, young man, until I’m at libbuty to attend to you further,” said Mr. Mergleson, and finished his tea slowly and eloquently.... The second footman rubbed his shin thoughtfully. “If I got to smack ’is ’ed much,” he said, “’e’d better change into his slippers.” “Take him to ’is room,” said Mr. Mergleson getting up. “See ’e washes the grief and grubbiness off ’is face in the handwash at the end of the passage and make him put on his slippers. Then show ’im ’ow to lay the table in the steward’s room.” § 4