The Moonstone - Page 275/404

"You don't seem to like him, Betteredge?"

"Nobody likes him, sir."

"Why is he so unpopular?"

"Well, Mr. Franklin, his appearance is against him, to begin with.

And then there's a story that Mr. Candy took him with a very doubtful

character. Nobody knows who he is--and he hasn't a friend in the place.

How can you expect one to like him, after that?"

"Quite impossible, of course! May I ask what he wanted with you, when he

gave you that bit of paper?"

"Only to bring me the weekly list of the sick people about here,

sir, who stand in need of a little wine. My lady always had a regular

distribution of good sound port and sherry among the infirm poor; and

Miss Rachel wishes the custom to be kept up. Times have changed! times

have changed! I remember when Mr. Candy himself brought the list to my

mistress. Now it's Mr. Candy's assistant who brings the list to me.

I'll go on with the letter, if you will allow me, sir," said Betteredge,

drawing Rosanna Spearman's confession back to him. "It isn't lively

reading, I grant you. But, there! it keeps me from getting sour with

thinking of the past." He put on his spectacles, and wagged his head

gloomily. "There's a bottom of good sense, Mr. Franklin, in our conduct

to our mothers, when they first start us on the journey of life. We are

all of us more or less unwilling to be brought into the world. And we

are all of us right."

Mr. Candy's assistant had produced too strong an impression on me to

be immediately dismissed from my thoughts. I passed over the last

unanswerable utterance of the Betteredge philosophy; and returned to the

subject of the man with the piebald hair.

"What is his name?" I asked.

"As ugly a name as need be," Betteredge answered gruffly. "Ezra

Jennings."