First Person Paramount by Ambrose Pratt — Read

The next month passed very quietly. I got used to Sir William and his ways, and so assiduously attended him that I had the satisfaction to perceive that my services were gradually becoming indispensable to his comfort. I studied him so closely that before long I was able almost to read his thoughts, certainly to anticipate his wishes. I waited upon him like a shadow, as silently, as faithfully. His life was for the most part of fixed habit. At nine o'clock he arose and breakfasted. He then repaired to his library where he read or wrote until noon. I found that he was engaged in compiling a compendium of philosophy, one volume of which had already been published and which had procured for him a great measure of literary fame. His heart was wrapped up in his work. It had more charms to him than the love of woman to an abandoned rake, or dice to a gambler.

Once seated there before his manuscript he permitted nothing to interrupt him, except noise -- at which he raged like a madman. I have seen him bend murderous glances on Butts -- entering by chance with some persistent visitor's pasteboard. I, however, came and went as I pleased with his medicines, which I obliged him to take at the proper hours. For me he had always a smile, impatient truly, but a smile; for I wore shoes of felt, and from careful practice my voice became more softly modulated every day. At noon Sir William went out for a walk in the park, and for lunch at his restaurant. He returned at three and worked steadily until seven, when I dressed him for dinner, for which he also went abroad. From ten o'clock until midnight he worked again, when I put him to bed. Such was our daily round for six days in every week.