The cart arrived so early at the railway station that Andy had nearly half an hour to wait, and as one country person after another came upon the platform, and joined a group, an obvious whisper went round, followed by a furtive inspection of the black-coated stranger.
Andy straightened his shoulders, and unconsciously endeavoured to assume an expression of benevolent dignity. Naturally, they were interested in the new Vicar of Gaythorpe. It would have surprised Andy very much at the moment to have met any one who was not interested in that gentleman, and he felt a little glow, in passing one of the groups, to hear a woman say—
“He’s so slight and thin. You’d wonder where he could put it.”
“H-hush!” warned the rest.
Andy smiled inwardly and settled his collar. Of course they referred to his brain. Well, it was rather a wonderful thing to have a living presented to one at twenty-five by a man who had only chanced to hear a single sermon. He thought it all over again. The old friend of his Vicar attending morning service—the interview three days later—the astonishing offer of a living that was a rich one, as livings go in these days.
“Of course,” said Andy to himself, stepping into the railway carriage, “I was rather trenchant that morning.”
He glanced out of the window as the train slipped away through the spring afternoon, and congratulated himself on the impression he seemed to have made on his new neighbours. They would be eager to see him again. Ridiculous for the London clergy to talk of apathy in the face of such interest as he had seen at Millsby station. The parishioners were already discussing the mental qualifications of the new Vicar with a keenness that was perfectly delightful.
And in the next compartment three women bent together, discussing a wonder.
“Was it six cheesecakes that Thorpe’s groom said?”
“And eight tarts! And you know Mrs. Thorpe’s tarts.”