Here, the master of the house received his guests and tenants, here he smoked, gossiped and read the newspapers—The Times, The Field, Country Life, and with special avidity, the local Rag,—but he never opened a book,—although encompassed by thousands of neglected volumes.—He was not, as he boastfully declared, "a reading man." "Jorrocks" was his favourite hero; his, was an outdoor temperament; hunting, shooting, gardening, and farming were all to his taste; and the house was merely a sort of refuge, where he ate, and slept; four weeks' incarceration indoors, was to him an unexampled experience. On a lounge in the library, surrounded by a volume of tobacco smoke, and attended by a buxom nurse, the invalid was found by his nephew and heir.
Richard Mayne, J.P. and D.L., was a remarkably active little man, some years over seventy; he had keen dark eyes, flexible brows, a firm, clean shaven mouth, and a pleasant smile. The arrival of his nephew, afforded him real and unqualified pleasure, and he greeted him with outstretched hands, and a full resonant voice—by no means the feeble squeak of an invalid.—"Got your wire this morning, sent the car, glad to see you, my boy—very glad!"
"And how are you, Uncle Dick? you look fairly fit. Going on all right, eh, nurse!" glancing at his companion.
"Yes, Mr. Mayne has made a remarkable recovery," she rejoined, "I expect in a few weeks, he will be quite out of my hands," and she rose and retired, leaving the uncle and nephew to themselves.
"It's the healthy outdoor life, eh, 'um, 'um, that's what has stood to me—but I tell you, when that brute rolled on me, I thought it was a case for the undertaker!
"Yes," assented his nephew, "from that cable, I was afraid you were in a bad way, Uncle Dick, and I'm awfully glad to find you so well."
"We wrote to Port Said to tell you I was going on all right,—but I daresay we missed the mail. You are looking uncommonly fit, not a bit yellow or tucked up! India has taken no toll off you: good stations, good sport, 'um, 'um?"
After such a long absence from home, there was much for Mayne to hear, and for his uncle to impart; the old gentleman was a fluent talker, and enchanted to get hold of a listener, to whom all his news was absolutely fresh. He was ten times more anxious to relate, than to listen, and unfolded a heavy budget,—without displaying any curiosity as to what the traveller might have to offer in exchange?
First, there were the full details of his accident,—including the weather, the condition of the ground, the character, and pedigree of the horse; then came "the case," the doctors, the specialist, and a warm eulogium of his nurses. After this, the county news; succeeded by estate and domestic intelligence; who had come, and who had gone, how the pheasants had done; how the great fig tree was dead,—also the hen swan, and the old woman at the west lodge.
Mayne found the place but little changed—everything in the same apple-pie order. Maynesfort was his uncle's hobby, he loved the old place with an absorbing passion,—and to tell the truth found her a very extravagant mistress! A series of reckless predecessors, had dissipated and gambled away the property, till but about a thousand acres remained; and although the owner lived, so to speak, rent free, there was much to maintain; the ancient house like its kind, was in constant want of repair; the drains, the roof, the chimneys, called for outlay, and supervision; the gardens, greenhouses, and avenues, had to be kept up,—as Maynesfort had a reputation to support, and there were no nice fat farms, to bring in a steady revenue.