It was Wednesday, and James knocked on the door of Mr. Meijer's home. His clothes were dirty, his hand were dirty, and he had the distinct smell of an unwashed child. Oh shoot, his hair was standing up. James spat in his hand.

Benny opened the door a crack and looked around before letting his eyes fall upon the boy. He held the door with his body leaned against it so he could only have his face poking through. "What do you want?"

You go, Mr. Benjamin! Show those rabble their place!

Zechariah shook his head at the entirely predictable arc in this murder mystery (it was always the butler - he was never hiring another butler again) but continued to read anyway.

James was just spitting in his hand when the door opened. He looked up with his mouth still above his hand, lips pursed, because there was a little string of salvia still connecting his mouth to his hand. He wiped his mouth with his wrist, and then quickly brought his wet hand up to his head and smoothed his hair. Then he grabbed the opening of his jacket and pulled it up around him, because it was too big and kept slipping off his shoulders. "Good evenin' good ser. Are ye Mr. Meijer?"

Benny rose his brow. "No, I am not. What is your business with him?" He watched him wearily as if the kid might try to slip in or shake his hand.

"I 'eard 'e was lookin' for a servant." The boy said, straightening his back, because clearly he was the ideal candidate.

... but was it the butler? Flip.

Benny looked less than convinced. "I don't know. You don't look like the type who can take the job seriously. Besides, don't you have school?"

James put his chin up. "I'm already twelve," he lied.

Benny folded his arms. "And? What can you do at twelve that's good enough? He needs someone focused and serious for his job."