"Six, seven, eight," said Mr. Hazlewood, counting the letters which he had already written since breakfast and placing them on the salver which Hubbard was holding out to him. He was a very different man this morning from the Mr. Hazlewood of yesterday. He shone, complacent and serene. He leaned back in his chair and gazed mildly at the butler. "There must be an answer to the problem which I put to you, Hubbard."
Hubbard wrinkled his brows in thought and succeeded only in looking a hundred and ten years old. He had the melancholy look of a moulting bird. He shook his head and drooped.
"But as far as you are concerned," Mr. Hazlewood continued briskly, "you can throw no light upon it?"
Mr. Hazlewood was disappointed and with him disappointment was petulance.
"That is unlike you, Hubbard," he said, "for sometimes after I have been deliberating for days over some curious and perplexing conundrum, you have solved it the moment it has been put to you."
Hubbard drooped still lower. He began the droop as a bow of acknowledgment but forgot to raise his head again.
"It is very good of you, sir," he said. He seemed oppressed by the goodness of Mr. Hazlewood.
"Yet you are not clever, Hubbard! Not at all clever."
"No, sir. I know my place," returned the butler, and Mr. Hazlewood continued with a little envy.
"You must have some wonderful gift of insight which guides you straight to the inner meaning of things."
"It's just common-sense, sir," said Hubbard.
"But I haven't got it," cried Mr. Hazlewood. "How's that?"
"You don't need it, sir. You are a gentleman," Hubbard replied, and carried the letters to the door. There, however, he stopped. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but a new parcel of _The Prison Walls_ has arrived this morning. Shall I unpack it?"
Mr. Hazlewood frowned and scratched his ear.
"Well--er--no, Hubbard--no," he said with a trifle of discomfort. "I am not sure indeed that _The Prison Walls_ is not almost one of my mistakes. We all make mistakes, Hubbard. I think you shall burn that parcel, Hubbard--somewhere where it won't be noticed."
"Certainly, sir," said Hubbard. "I'll burn it under the shadow of the south wall."
Mr. Hazlewood looked up with a start. Was it possible that Hubbard was poking fun at him? The mere notion was incredible and indeed Hubbard shuffled with so much meekness from the room that Mr. Hazlewood dismissed it. He went across the hall to the dining-room, where he found Henry Thresk trifling with his breakfast. No embarrassment weighed upon Mr. Hazlewood this morning. He effervesced with good-humour.