Well, I suppose, if I saw one, I saw a hundred great, big, hulking fellows, who came after my situation, and who were so grand, that, bless us and save us! one would have fancied that they had been brought up as clerks in some government office, and had been in the habit of receiving large salaries for doing nothing all their lives. Out of the bunch, I picked that John Duffy--drat him!--for he was the best, to my way of thinking. When he applied for the place, he was a nice, decent, genteel-looking body, of rather a slim figure than otherwise, and he seemed so willing--assuring me that he was ready to make himself generally useful, (all of which I can now very well understand--especially the thinness--for he had been six months out of a situation.) The livery I had made for that dirty Duffy was one of the sweetest things when it was new, certainly. Every article of the entire suit was of a different colour. I ordered the tailor to make me a love of a white coat, and a pet of a canary waistcoat, and a perfect duck of a pair of bright crimson plush knee what-d’ye-call-’ems--the name of the things escapes me just at the present moment. Mr. Edward, in his nasty, perverse way, would have it that Duffy would look more like a Macaw in such fine feathers than a Christian; but I soon put a stop to his sneers, for I asked him pretty plainly, what the dickens that was to me? Of course I wanted all the world to know that I had got a footman, and as I didn’t see anything to be ashamed of in it, I took good care to publish it as conspicuously, and in as many colours, as a Vauxhall posting-bill.