There was no having his own way in the stables;
everything was managed in the stingiest fashion. His grandfather
persisted in retaining as head groom an old dolt whom no sort of
lever could move out of his old habits, and who was allowed to hire a
succession of raw Loamshire lads as his subordinates, one of whom
had lately tested a new pair of shears by clipping an oblong patch on
Arthur's bay mare. This state of things is naturally embittering; one
can put up with annoyances in the house, but to have the stable made
a scene of vexation and disgust is a point beyond what human flesh
and blood can be expected to endure long together without danger of
misanthropy.
Old John's wooden, deep-wrinkled face was the first object that met
Arthur's eyes as he entered the stable-yard, and it quite poisoned for
him the bark of the two bloodhounds that kept watch there. He could
never speak quite patiently to the old blockhead.
"You must have Meg saddled for me and brought to the door at half-past
eleven, and I shall want Rattler saddled for Pym at the same time. Do
you hear?"
"Yes, I hear, I hear, Cap'n," said old John very deliberately, following
the young master into the stable. John considered a young master as the
natural enemy of an old servant, and young people in general as a poor
contrivance for carrying on the world.
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