Aristocracy (Social class) -- Fiction; Europeans -- United States -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
"You poor kid! But listen. I'll give you a tip. You needn't be out of a
job ten minutes. Young Mrs. Millidew is up there with the old girl now.
They've been havin' it hot and heavy for fifteen minutes. The old one
called the young one up on the 'phone at seven o'clock this morning and
gave her the swellest tongue-lashin' you ever heard. Said she'd been
stealin' her chauffeur, and--a lot of other things I'm ashamed to tell
you. Over comes the young one, hotter'n fire, and they're havin' it out
upstairs. I happened to be passin' the door a little while ago and I
heard young Mrs. Millidew tell the Missus that if she fired you she'd
take you on in two seconds. So, if you--"
"Thanks, Katie," interrupted Trotter. "Did Mrs. Millidew say when she
would see me?"
"Soon as she gets something on," said Katie.
At that moment, a door slammed violently on the floor above. There was a
swift swish of skirts, and then the vivid, angry face of Mrs. Millidew,
the younger, came suddenly into view. She leaned far out over the
banister rail and searched the hallway below with quick, roving eyes.
"Are you there, Trotter?" she called out in a voice that trembled
perceptibly.
He advanced a few paces, stopping beside the newel post. He looked
straight up into her eyes.
"Yes, Mrs. Millidew."
"You begin driving for me today," she said hurriedly. "Do you
understand?"
"But, madam, I am not open to--"
"Yes, you are," she interrupted. "You don't know it, but you are out of
a job, Trotter."
"I am not surprised," he said.
"I don't care what you were doing last night,--that is your affair, not
mine. You come to me at once at the same wages--"
"I beg your pardon," he broke in. "I mean to say I am not seeking
another situation."
"If it is a question of pay, I will give you ten dollars a week more
than you were receiving here. Now, don't haggle. That is sixty dollars a
week. Hurry up! Decide! She will be out here in a minute. Oh, thunder!"
The same door banged open and the voice of Mrs. Millidew, the elder,
preceded its owner by some seconds in the race to the front.
"You are not fired, Trotter," she squealed. Her head, considerably
dishevelled, appeared alongside the gay spring bonnet that bedecked her
daughter-in-law. "You ought to be fired for what you did last night, but
you are not. Do you understand? Now, shut up, Dolly! It doesn't matter
if I _did_ say I was going to fire him. I've changed my mind."
"You are too late," said the younger Mrs. Millidew coolly. "I've just
engaged him. He comes to me at--"
"You little snake!"
"Ladies, I beg of you--"
"The next time I let him go gallivanting off with you for a couple of
days--and _nights_,--you'll know it," cried the elder Mrs. Millidew,
furiously. "I can see what you've been up to. You've been doing
everything in your power to get him away from me--"
"Just what do you mean to insinuate, Mother Millidew?" demanded the
other, her voice rising.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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