II
By the middle of July he was installed in rooms in Upworthy under the fostering care of the Rockrams, two old servants from the Manor. Tom Rockram had been Stimson’s predecessor, before the old Squire died, and his wife had soared from scullery-maid to cook in the same establishment. Their cottage faced the village green, and stood in its own garden. Each spring and summer the Rockrams took in boarders, but, at a hint from Dr. Pawley, they were glad to get a permanent “gentleman.” Grimshaw was given a good bedroom and sitting-room, and he had the use of Pawley’s dispensary.
Upon the faces of the two old servants were inscribed, with full quarterings, the Chandos arms. Whatever a Chandos did was just right. Brian, of course, in the judgment of Mrs. Rockram, was the handsomest hussar in the kingdom; Tom Rockram spoke with even greater enthusiasm of Cicely as the sweetest young lady in the world. Too sugary, perhaps, these descriptions, from a hypercritical point of view, but indicating loyalty and gratitude, qualities rare indeed in modern servants. Grimshaw found himself valeted to perfection, and looked forward to excellently cooked meals, a quite novel experience. The cosiness of it all was in delightful contrast to domestic conditions in Poplar. He wondered whether he would grow fat, like the weed on Lethe’s wharf, and slowly rot at ease. For the first time in his life he began to spell comfort with a capital “C.” To Pawley and Lady Selina he said emphatically: “I never had such a billet.” To himself, he thought, with amused apprehension: “Will this cosseting get a strangle-hold on me?” And if it did, what of it? Good men and true toiled and moiled, struggling on against adverse winds and currents, to achieve just such snug anchorage.
Pawley introduced him to some of the local magnates, who smiled graciously upon an old Wykhamist. Each day it became more certain to the young man that a prosperous future was his if he played the cards already in his hand. Sir Dion had been right. A sound country practice was not to be sneezed at. And the premium paid to Pawley had been negligible. In fine, he was treading a broad highway, walking briskly towards fortune, if not fame. Pawley suggested that on occasion he might ride.
“Would your means justify keeping a horse?” he asked.
“Do you mean a hunter? The doctor in boots?”
“Well, yes. A cavalier, you know, challenges attention. One day a week in the season might be worth while from every point of view.”
Grimshaw laughed.
“And how about my research work?”
“As to that——! You see, my dear fellow, I hesitate to advise you. The horse is a suggestion, nothing more. Long ago I gave up hunting. I’ve regretted it. As for research work, doesn’t it exact too undivided energies? I had to scrap my microscope before I put down my hunter. Think it over.”