“As to the second corridor,” he went on.  “There having been nothing in it, last year, but the doors of the rooms (to every one of which I can swear, if necessary), my mind is easy, I admit, respecting that part of the house only.  But, as to Mr. Franklin’s bedroom (if that is to be put back to what it was before), I want to know who is responsible for keeping it in a perpetual state of litter, no matter how often it may be set right—­his trousers here, his towels there, and his French novels everywhere.  I say, who is responsible for untidying the tidiness of Mr. Franklin’s room, him or me?”

Mr. Blake declared that he would assume the whole responsibility with the greatest pleasure.  Betteredge obstinately declined to listen to any solution of the difficulty, without first referring it to my sanction and approval.  I accepted Mr. Blake’s proposal; and Betteredge made a last entry in the pocket-book to that effect.

“Look in when you like, Mr. Jennings, beginning from to-morrow,” he said, getting on his legs.  “You will find me at work, with the necessary persons to assist me.  I respectfully beg to thank you, sir, for overlooking the case of the stuffed buzzard, and the other case of the Cupid’s wing—­as also for permitting me to wash my hands of all responsibility in respect of the pins on the carpet, and the litter in Mr. Franklin’s room.  Speaking as a servant, I am deeply indebted to you.  Speaking as a man, I consider you to be a person whose head is full of maggots, and I take up my testimony against your experiment as a delusion and a snare.  Don’t be afraid, on that account, of my feelings as a man getting in the way of my duty as a servant!  You shall be obeyed.  The maggots notwithstanding, sir, you shall be obeyed.  If it ends in your setting the house on fire, Damme if I send for the engines, unless you ring the bell and order them first!”

With that farewell assurance, he made me a bow, and walked out of the room.

“Do you think we can depend on him?” I asked.

“Implicitly,” answered Mr. Blake.  “When we go to the house, we shall find nothing neglected, and nothing forgotten.”

June 19th.—­Another protest against our contemplated proceedings!  From a lady this time.

The morning’s post brought me two letters.  One from Miss Verinder, consenting, in the kindest manner, to the arrangement that I have proposed.  The other from the lady under whose care she is living—­one Mrs. Merridew.

Mrs. Merridew presents her compliments, and does not pretend to understand the subject on which I have been corresponding with Miss Verinder, in its scientific bearings.  Viewed in its social bearings, however, she feels free to pronounce an opinion.  I am probably, Mrs. Merridew thinks, not aware that Miss Verinder is barely nineteen years of age.  To allow a young lady, at her time of life, to be present (without a “chaperone”) in a house full of men among