These things Rollo served quite as if he were managing oatmeal and eggs and china.

One would have said that he had been brought up between the covers of an ancient history, nothing in consequence being so old or so new as to amaze him.

Upon their late arrival the evening before he had instantly moved about his duties in all the quiet decorum with which he officiated in three rooms and a bath, emptying the oil-skins, disposing of their contents in great cedar chests, and, from certain rich and alien garments laid out for the guests, pretending as unconcernedly to fleck lint as if they had been broadcloth from Fifth Avenue.

He stood bending above the breakfast-table, his lean, shadowed hands perfectly at home, his lean, shadowed face all automatic attention.
"Rollo," said St.George, "go and look out the window and see if Sodom is smoking." "Yes, sir," said Rollo, and moved to the nearest casement and bent his look submissively below.
"Everything quiet, sir," he reported literally; "a very warm day, sir.

But it's easy to sleep, sir, no matter how warm the days are if only the nights are cool.