Do what you like with it, but don't give me back the bottle. I am a disgraced man, and poison is my only remedy now." Buttercup could not resist the force of such reasoning, and that on a Christmas Day. So he nodded to the suppliant, remarking by way of reward, "You old humbug! How can I be your mábáp? We shall suppose, for the fun of it, that I am your báp, but how can you make me out your má?—unless he means you, my dear," whispered the wicked Buttercup, turning to his spouse. At this sally there was a great laugh. Jamál gathered strength, and offered to serve his dároo[1] with his own hands. The request was granted. Jamál knew he had made his fortune. In less than a week he installed himself head butler. He stuck to his shop, too, but at dinner time he would be at the bungalow, with one novelty or other to provoke appetite. It need not be said that Jamál rose rapidly in importance. He was on confidential terms with Mrs. Colonel Buttercup, they knew. She consulted him upon every concern. When there was cholera, Jámal would advise madam to fly to a distant village with her
- ↑ Wine.
