Upon my word, at times, I was sorry that I hadn’t taken Edward’s advice, for _that_ Wittals made Duffy no better, and _that_ Duffy only made Wittals much worse. Now, I dare say, the reader will imagine that, with two male servants in the house, and little or nothing for them to do, I might at least have got so much as a simple bell answered; but, oh dear, no! I might pull and pull as though I was up in a filthy belfry pulling my arms off for a leg of mutton and trimmings; and yet, there Mr. Duffy would sit, roasting his fat calves before the fire, as unconcerned as a mute at a street door--with his precious “Oh, ah! let ’em ring again!”--while that idle vagabond of a Mr. Wittals sat stock still, with both his hands stuffed into the pockets of his mulberry pantaloons, as if they were made of cast iron, and grinning away, as though he thought it a capital joke to trifle with my feelings. Then, positively, too, if that Duffy didn’t go and so inoculate that Wittals with his nasty, familiar ways, that, as for getting any respect out of the pair of them, Lord bless you! one might just as well have looked for civility from a cabman after paying him his legal fare. If I happened to meet either of them in the street, not so much as a touch of the hat could they treat me to; and do what I would, I could no more get them to put ‘Mam’ at the end of their sentences when they spoke to me, than if they had been a couple of clerks at a railway station. First, I should have that Wittals speaking of my little angel of a Catherine, as “Kitty,” to my very face, though I had told him, over and over again, that the cherub’s name was Miss Sk--n--st--n, and begged of him not to let me hear him ‘Kitty’ her again, if he wanted to stop in my house; but, as the monkey knew very well that I couldn’t turn him out of it, of course he didn’t care two pins about what I said. Then I should have that great fat Duffy coming strolling into the parlour as slow as an omnibus half full, and asking, “How many we should be to dinner to-day?”--putting me in such a passion with his “We’s” (as if he was one of the family), that I used to say, “_We!_ whom do you mean by _we_, I should like to know, sir? I and your master will dine at home to-day, and that’s the only _we_ I am acquainted with in this house; though, perhaps, by your _we’s_, you’d like to sit down to the table with us--and, I’m sure, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you did, for you certainly seem to me always to forget who you are, and what you are, and where you came from.”