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The oil is--
not quite nice; but everything else is."
"The oil?"
"On the chairs, I mean; because it gets on one's dress. Still,
mine is not a new one."
Giles found that Creedle, in his zeal to make things look bright,
had smeared the chairs with some greasy kind of furniture-polish,
and refrained from rubbing it dry in order not to diminish the
mirror-like effect that the mixture produced as laid on. Giles
apologized and called Creedle; but he felt that the Fates were
against him.

CHAPTER X.

Supper-time came, and with it the hot-baked from the oven, laid on
a snowy cloth fresh from the press, and reticulated with folds, as
in Flemish "Last Suppers." Creedle and the boy fetched and
carried with amazing alacrity, the latter, to mollify his superior
and make things pleasant, expressing his admiration of Creedle's
cleverness when they were alone.
"I s'pose the time when you learned all these knowing things, Mr.
Creedle, was when you was in the militia?"
"Well, yes.


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