For the honor of being the Carseys' "station horse"
had descended to him from his father Luke, whose father Mark had in
the days of prosperity traveled in harness with Matthew, fulfilling
that same important office. Thus John was, in a way, enjoying the
distinction of apostolic succession.
Arrived at the station Uncle Jimpson stepped jauntily around the post-
office box and ostentatiously took out the Carseys' mail. It was a
small act to take pride in, but in lieu of more important duties it
had to serve. For the past six weeks the advent of city people at
Thornwood had stirred up old ambitions in him. A new sprightliness was
observable in his gait, a briskness in his speech, which Aunt Caroline
did not hesitate to characterize as "taking on airs."
The blood of a butler coursed through Uncle Jimpson's veins, a
stately, ebony butler who had been wont to stand at the Thornwood door
during the old days and hold a silver tray covered with boutonnieres,
for the arriving guests. Uncle Jimpson had inherited this tray along
with an ambition that was not above buttons. Year after year he had
descended with the descending Carsey fortunes, passing from the house
to the horses, then to the field, and finally becoming the man of all
work, but never relinquishing that dream of his youth, to stand in
livery in the halls of the rich, and exercise those talents with which
Providence had blessed him.
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