Johnny Gafferty, though he had been eight years in Mrs. MacDermott’s service, had never before heard of her nephew.
“It could be,” he said, cautiously, “that the captain will be bringing a horse with him, or maybe two.”
He felt that a title of some sort was due to the nephew of a lady like Mrs. MacDennott. The assumption that he would have a horse or two with him was natural. All Mrs. MacDermott’s friends hunted.
“He’s not a captain,” said Mrs. MacDennott, “and he’s bringing no horses and he doesn’t hunt. What’s more, Johnny, he doesn’t even ride, couldn’t sit on the back of a donkey. So his father says, anyway.”
“Glory be to God!” said Johnny, “and what sort of a gentleman will he be at all?”
“He’s a poet,” said Mrs. MacDennott.
Johnny felt that he had perhaps gone beyond the limits of respectful criticism in expressing his first astonishment at the amazing news that Mrs. MacDermott’s nephew could not ride.
“Well,” he said, “there’s worse things than poetry in the world.”
“Very few sillier things,” said Mrs. MacDermott. “But that’s not the worse there is about him, Johnny. His health is completely broken down. That’s why he’s coming here. Nerve strain, they call it.”
“That’s what they would call it,” said Johnny sympathetically, “when it’s a high-up gentleman like a nephew of your own. And it’s hard to blame him. There’s many a man does be a bit foolish without meaning any great harm by it.”