I'm to fetch coal and run errants and wait on table.

But you'll get the best cuts, sir.

And after hours I can see to your clothes and linen and boots and hats, and do your errants same like the usual." "Now this is nearly as pathetic as our best fiction," said Berkley; "ruined master, faithful man--_won't_ leave--starves slowly at his master's feet--tootle music very sneaky--'transformation! Burgess in heaven, blinking, puzzled, stretching one wing, reflectively scratching his halo with right hind foot.

Angel chorus.

Burgess appears to enjoy it and lights one of my best cigars----" "Sir ?" said Burgess, very red.
Berkley swung around, levelled his walking-stick, and indicated the pit of his servant's stomach: "Your face is talking now; wait till _that_ begins to yell.