Decorum Read Online Free Page B

the hallway for a servant, demanding a cold plate of food and a pint of beer. As Jamie ate, the pain in his head subsided and he realized the pain had been more from hunger than from the blow. He devoured the food like a feral cat. The man paced the room, observing him first from the mantel, then from the sideboard, where he poured himself a drink.
    “Where are you from then?” Jamie had asked to fill the uneasy silence.
    “Here and there,” the man had said.
    “No, really, sir.”
    “Really? Belfast.”
    “And how long’ve you been here then?” he said, omitting the “sir” without disrespect.
    “I came when I wasn’t much older than you.”
    “A long time then, sir.”
    “I’ll overlook the remark upon me age. But, yes, a long time.” He gave a long, deep sigh and crossed again to the mantel. “Are you interested in a job?”
    “What kind of job?” Jamie had been surprised and skeptical.
    “Valet,” the man said, with a definite T .
    “What?”
    “Valet. Take care of me, my clothes, my belongings—understanding, of course, that what’s mine is not yours—carry messages, hail cabs, do what needs doin’, and be my general dogsbody.”
    “I don’t go into service for no one,” Jamie had said. “You can find yourself another dogsbody.”
    “So, the idea of regular food, decent clothes, a warm bed, and pocket money till you get on your feet doesn’t appeal to you? I’ll admit I’m no prize to work for. And the minute I catch you pilfering or otherwise causing disruption to hearth and home, I’ll give you a hiding you’ll never forget and throw you back out onto the streets where I found you. It does, however, seem preferable to a bit of ‘this and that.’ Think it over. You can sleep where you are tonight. Tomorrow morning I’ll feed you. You can give me your answer then.” The man disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Jamie to wonder at the proposition.
    The cold, gray light of day and a bitter, blustery downpour had brought fresh perspective to the problem. Though the idea of being beholden to anyone was unpalatable, Jamie found himself inclined to prefer a life that, while not wholly independent, at least would afford him the basic necessities and a temporary relief from scrounging on the streets. A breakfast of steak and eggs and potatoes had been eaten in silence, with the man shoving extra portions across the table without ceremony or acknowledgment. When the dishes had been cleared and the last cups of coffee sat before them, the man spoke.
    “Well?”
    Jamie was about to ask for terms, but seeing the grave expression on the man’s face, he admitted to himself that the man held all the cards.
    “I’ll stay.”
    “Well, then. You’ll get half days on Wednesdays and Sundays—Sunday mornings so’s you can recover from the night before and go to confession for the good of your immortal soul.” Jamie couldn’t tell if the man was serious. “You’ll start at two dollars a week, plus you’ll get your room and board. And I want no nonsense. I’ll break your skull for you, boy, so I will, and no mistake. Now,” he said, rising. “We’ll see about cleaning you up.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The man made for the door.
    “Sir!”
    “Yes,” said the man, turning back.
    “What’s your name, sir?”
    “My name, boy, is Connor O’Casey.”

C HAPTER 3
    The Subject of Confutation

    Avoid opposition and argument in conversation. Rarely controvert opinions; never contradict sentiments. The expression of a feeling should be received as a fact which is not the subject of confutation. Those who wrangle in company render themselves odious by disturbing the equanimity of their companion, and compelling him to defend and give a reason for his opinion, when perhaps he is neither capable nor inclined to do it.
     
    — Decorum, page 231

    “What is it?” Tracey called in answer to the knock.
    The knock came again. “What is it?” he called again, this time irritably.
    The shutters