astounded by some of the things he would say to me. For instance, I once had

occasion to ask him if a certain gentleman expected at the house was likely to

be accompanied by his wife.

 

"God help us if she does come," Mr Farraday replied. "Maybe you could keep her

off our hands, Stevens. Maybe you could take her out to one of those stables

around Mr Morgan's farm. Keep her entertained in all that hay. She may be just

your type."

 

For a moment or two, I had not an idea what my employer was saying. Then I

realized he was making some sort of joke and endeavoured to smile appropriately,

though I suspect some residue of my bewilderment, not to say shock, remained

detectable in my expression.

 

Over the following days, however, I came to learn not to be surprised by such

remarks from my employer, and would smile in the correct manner whenever I

detected the bantering tone in his voice. Nevertheless, I could never be sure

exactly what was required of me on these occasions. Perhaps I was expected to

laugh heartily; or indeed, reciprocate with some remark of my own. This last

possibility is one that has given me some concern over these months, and is

something about which I still feel undecided. For it may well be that in

America, it is all part of what is considered good professional service that an

employee provide entertaining banter. In fact, I remember Mr Simpson, the

landlord of the Ploughman's Arms, saying once that were he an American

bartender, he would not be chatting to us in that friendly, but ever-courteous