Grimshaw nodded. But he hardly dared to confess to himself how keen he was to take up again open-air sports and pastimes. His first appearance on the village green, as a cricketer, had been acclaimed by all Upworthy. Lady Selina said solemnly: “Perhaps we shall beat Wilverley next year.”
Playing cricket, he met John Exton, and exchanged some talk with him. In Poplar it was impossible to throw a stone without hitting young men of John’s kidney. They, however, threw the stones in Poplar quite regardless of whom they might hit. Grimshaw knew that the Extons were under notice to quit the old homestead; and he knew also that Lady Selina had persuaded Lord Wilverley to entrust a small farm to Ephraim. This had soaped the ways by which the Extons slid from one parish into another. John was very bitter about it.
“We’ve never had a dog’s chance,” he told Grimshaw. “I don’t say, sir, that Father was wise to buy thoroughbred stock when he hadn’t proper buildings to house ’em in, but the old Squire egged him on to do it. Things were a sight better in his time, because he kept the whip-hand of Gridley. Now, Gridley does pretty much as he pleases, and my lady don’t know what goes on behind her back. Gridley sees to it that she ain’t bothered.”
“You’re up against a system,” said Grimshaw. “It’s no use blaming individuals.”
“I blame my lady,” John replied doggedly.
He was not the only one in Upworthy who held that individual responsible.
Nick Farleigh, the softy, did odd jobs for Tom Rockram, pumping water, fetching and carrying like a retriever, blacking boots, and feeding poultry. In common with many children of undeveloped minds, he had strange gifts, fashioning queer objects out of unconsidered trifles. Grimshaw won his devotion by showing him how to make a Chinese junk out of a square of newspaper.
Nick said gratefully:
“I bain’t afeard of ’ee, zur.”
“Why should you be afraid of anybody, my boy?”