Free Masters of the Maze by Avram Davidson

pushes the lawn reaper around with his six-fingered hands, he drove me down back to the station where I like to have froze my
balls
off waiting for the train; why?”
    Nate explained why, mentioned something of his present problems, collected his brother’s good wishes, declined to make the trip to Darkglen via Jerry’s apartment, and hung up.
    He understood what Jerry meant about the letter, if it was, as it probably was, anything like the one he’d gotten himself, it
did
seem faintly old English-novelish, with its references to “family connections, which, while not close, are perhaps not very distant,” to Mr. Bellamy’s interest in him “ — though not previously expressed,” the “healthy, country air” around Darkglen, “a house which some have found interesting … hunting … terrain said to be good for skiing … a quite large library …” and so on. City life tended to be rather dull and often unpleasant at this time of year. Since Mr. Nathaniel Gordon might, in view of his profession, be, to a certain extent, master of his time and movement, etc., etc….
    At any rate, Mr. Bellamy invited him to visit Darkglen for as long as he liked, with only the necessary warning that social life there was nil and that he might find the company of the master of Darkglen “neither exciting, nor, indeed, interesting.” But he need have no more of that company than he desired, for the guesthouse, “a cottage of ample but not ungainly” size would be gotten ready for his stay.
    Complicated instructions for reaching Darkglen by road and by railroad followed. If Nate came the latter route, Bellamy would arrange for transportation from the station; as for notifying him, the service for which General Telephone charged outrageous fees was outrageously bad; but a telegram “will almost invariably reach me, by one way or another, within two days …”
    “I do indeed hope that you will accept,”
the letter concluded.
    It seemed just the ticket. Doubtless Joe Bellamy
was
an old futz, as Jerry Gordon had said; doubtless he would complain about everything from the government to the fact that his children (if he had any) never came to visit him; but what the hell. At least he had enough savvy to appreciate that a younger guest would not want to be with him most of the time, and listening to his complaints an hour or two a day would be worth the opportunity Darkglen offered. For opportunity it was! New surroundings! Civilized comforts! Free room and board! Solitude! Yes, it was a great opportunity. Nate could write his ten (or twenty, depending on the word-lengths) set pieces at his own pace, unbugged, unbothered — when reaction set in, a brisk hike or even a dead run through the countryside — then to work again. In the evenings, the novel, if not entirely rapturous, experience of dinner at a large old country mansion, followed by a browse in the library for a book to go to sleep on.
    In short, a stroke of luck, this letter was not to be passed up.
    It had been years since Nate rode on any but a very few — in fact, one or two — main route trains, and the deterioration of service on the smaller, branch lines was an unpleasant surprise. The trains grew dirtier and later and older with each successive change … and four changes were involved. However, regarding the journey as (a) a fun thing in itself, and (b) practice for tripping and touring in Ruritania and Graustark, he was able to regard the worsening and the waits with equanimity. If the train was too hot, he took off his jacket and if it was too cold he put it back on, also his overcoat. He regretted most of all that the filthy-dirty windows prevented his observing most of the scenery. The railroads might still have to carry passengers, but they didn’t have to let them look out at their own country. As for making available food and drink (except sometimes a trickle of dirty water), ha ha.
    The final train was, as a baggage-smasher at the transfer point