“Me!” exclaimed Billy, wondering who it could be; “Me!” repeated he, taking the highly-glazed thin pasteboard missive off the tray, and reading, “Mr. Luke Grueler, Half-Moon Street, Piccadilly.”
“Grueler, Grueler!” repeated Billy, frowning and biting his pretty lips; “Grueler—I’ve surely heard that name before.”
“The bearer, sir, comes from Mr. Grueler, sir,” observed Mr. Bankhead, in explanation: “the party’s own name, sir, is Gaiters; but he said by bringing in this card, you would probably know who he is.”
“Ah! to be sure, so I do,” replied Billy, thus suddenly enlightened, “I’ve just been reading about him. Send him in, will you?”
“If you please, sir,” whispered the bowing Bankhead as he withdrew.
Billy then braced himself up for the coming interview.
A true groom’s knock, a loud and a little one, presently sounded on the white-over-black painted door-panel, and at our friend’s “Come in,” the door opened, when in sidled a sleek-headed well put on groomish-looking man, of apparently forty or five-and-forty years of age. The man bowed respectfully, which Billy returned, glancing at his legs to see whether they were knock-kneed or bowed, his Mamma having cautioned him against the former. They were neither; on the contrary, straight good legs, well set off with tightish, drab-coloured kerseymere shorts, and continuations to match. His coat was an olive-coloured cutaway, his vest a canary-coloured striped toilanette, with a slightly turned-down collar, showing the whiteness of his well-tied cravat, secured with a gold flying-fox pin. Altogether he was a most respectable looking man, and did credit to the recommendation of Mr. Grueler.
Still he was a groom of pretension—that is to say, a groom who wanted to be master. He was hardly, indeed, satisfied with that, and would turn a gentleman off who ventured to have an opinion of his own on any matter connected with his department. Mr. Gaiters considered that his character was the first consideration, his master’s wishes and inclinations the second; so if master wanted to ride, say, Rob Roy, and Gaiters meant him to ride Moonshine, there would be a trial of skill which it should be.
Mr. Gaiters always considered himself corporally in the field, and speculated on what people would be saying of “his horses.”
Some men like to be bullied, some don’t, but Gaiters had dropped on a good many who did. Still these are not the lasting order of men, and Gaiters had attended the dispersion of a good many studs at the Corner. Again, some masters had turned him off, while he had turned others off; and the reason of his now being disengaged was that the Sheriff of Doubleimupshire had saved him the trouble of taking Captain Swellington’s horses to Tattersall’s, by selling them off on the spot. Under these circumstances, Gaiters had written to his once former master—or rather employer—Mr. Grueler, to announce his retirement, which had led to the present introduction. Many people will recommend servants who they wouldn’t take themselves. Few newly married couples but what have found themselves saddled with invaluable servants that others wanted to get rid of.