“Sir!” says I, and “sir” was all I could say. The fact is, I could have replied with something remarkably neat and cutting, which would have transfixed the languid little jackanapes who dared to mistake me for a footman; but, you see, I only thought of my repartee some eight hours afterwards when I was lying in bed, and I am sorry to own that a great number of my best _bon mots_ have been made in that way. So, as I had not the pungent remark ready when wanted, I can’t say I said it to Captain Baker, but I daresay I turned very red, and said “Sir!” and—and in fact that was all. “You were goin’ to say somethin’?” asked the captain, affably. “You know my friend, Mr. Fitzboodle, I believe?” said I; the fact is, I really did not know what to say. “Some mistake—think not.” “He is a member of the Flag Club,” I remarked, looking my young fellow hard in the face. “I ain’t. There’s a set of cads in that club that will say anything.” “You may not know him, sir, but he seemed to know you very well. Are we to have any tea, children?” I say, flinging myself down on an easy chair, taking up a magazine and adopting an easy attitude, though I daresay my face was as red as a turkey-cock’s, and I was boiling over with rage. As we had a very good breakfast and a profuse luncheon at Shrublands, of course we could not support nature till dinner-time without a five-o’clock tea; and this was the meal for which I pretended to ask. Bedford, with his silver kettle, and his buttony satellite, presently brought in this refection, and of course the children bawled out to him— “Bedford—Bedford! uncle mistook Mr. Batchelor for you.” “I could not be mistaken for a more honest man, Pop,” said I. And the bearer of the tea-urn gave me a look of gratitude and kindness which, I own, went far to restore my ruffled equanimity. “Since you are the butler, will you get me a glass of sherry and a biscuit?” says the captain. And Bedford retiring, returned presently with the wine. The young gentleman’s hand shook so, that, in order to drink his wine, he had to surprise it, as it were, and seize it with his mouth, when a shake brought the glass near his lips. He drained the wine, and held out his hand for another glass. The hand was steadier now. “You the man who was here before?” asks the captain. “Six years ago, when you were here, sir,” says the butler. “What! I ain’t changed, I suppose?” “Yes, you are, sir.” “Then, how the dooce do you remember me?” “You forgot to pay me some money you borrowed of me, one pound five, sir,” says Bedford, whose eyes slyly turned in my direction.