Kitty sat down in her chair. "Well," she said, "I have found him."
"Found whom?" asked Mrs. Crawford.
"The private secretary."
"What?" Killigrew swung his feet to the deck. "What the dickens have
you been doing now? Who is it?"
"Webb."
"The steward?"
"Yes."
"Well, if that . . ." began Killigrew belligerently.
"Dad, either mother and I act as we please, or you may attend to the
home-bureau yourself. Mother, it was agreed and understood that I
should select any employee we might happen to need."
"It was, my dear."
"Very good. I want some one who will attend to the affairs honestly
and painstakingly. There must be no idler about the house; and any
young man . . ."
"Wouldn't an old one do?" suggested Killigrew.
"Whose set ideas would clash constantly with ours. And any young man
we know would idle and look on the whole affair as a fine joke. I've
had a talk with Webb. He's not a university man, but he's educated. I
found him reading _Morte d'Arthur_."
"Ah!"--from Crawford.
"He became a steward because he could find nothing else to do at the
present time.
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