And here was his son—a youth in aspect fitting perfectly to Samuel's vision; a very prince of the blood, yet genial and free-hearted—noblesse oblige! To him had descended these virtues and excellences—and all the estates and powers as the sign and symbol thereof. And now had come a poor ignorant country boy, and it had fallen to his fortune to save the life of this extraordinary being. And he was to have a chance to be near him, and to serve him—to see how he lived, and to find out the secret of his superior excellence. There was no snobbery in Samuel's attitude; he felt precisely as another and far greater Samuel had felt when his sovereign had condescended to praise his dictionary, and the tears of gratitude had started into his eyes.
They drove up before the palace, and a groom came hurrying up. “Phillips,” said young Lockman, “look at that rein!”
The groom stared aghast.
“Take it and show it to Sanderson,” the other continued. “Ask him if I don't pay enough for my harness that he gets me stuff like that.”
“Yes, sir,” said the groom.
They alighted and crossed the broad piazza, which was covered with easy chairs and tables and rugs. In the entrance hall stood a man in livery.
“Peters,” said the young man, “this is Samuel Prescott. I had some trouble with my horse and he helped me. He hasn't had anything to eat today, and I want him to have a good meal.”
“Yes, sir,” said the man. “Where shall I serve it, sir?”
“In the morning room. We'll wait there. And mind you, bring him a plenty.”
“Yes, sir,” said Peters, and went off.