remarked Mrs. Todhetley. "If what Mr. Lockett says of the school be true; that is, if the people who have the disposal of it are not deceiving him; it must be a very good thing."
"I suppose you mean that half the purchase-money should remain on it as a mortgage, to be paid off later," cried Blair, seizing the idea and brightening up.
"No; not exactly," said Mrs. Todhetley, getting as red as a rose, for she did not like to tell him what she did mean; it looked rather like a conspiracy.
"Look here, Blair," cried the Squire, taking him in the garden by the b.u.t.ton-hole, "_I_ will see about the other two hundred. You go up and make inquiries on the spot; and perhaps I"ll go too; I should like a run up; and if the affair is worth your while, we"ll pay the money down on the nail, and so have done with it."
It was Blair"s turn to grow red now. "Do you mean, sir, that you--that you--would advance the half of the money? But it would be too generous.
I have no claim on you----"
"No claim on me!" burst forth the Squire, in a pa.s.sion, pinning him against the wall of the pigeon-house. "No claim on me! When you saved my son from drowning only a few weeks ago! And had an ague through it! No claim on me! What next will you say?"
"But that was nothing, sir. Any man, with the commonest feelings of humanity, would jump into the water if he saw a fellow-creature sinking."
"Commonest fiddlestick!" roared the Squire. "If this school is one likely to answer your purpose, you put down your two hundred pounds, and I will see to the rest. There! We"ll go up to-day."
"Oh, sir, I never expected this. Perhaps in a year or two I shall be able to pay the money back again: but the goodness I can never repay."
"Don"t you trouble your head about paying me back till you"re asked to do it," retorted the Squire, mortally offended at the notion. "If you are too proud to take it and say nothing about it, I"ll give it to Mary Sanker instead of you. I will, too. Mind, sir! that half shall be your wife"s, not yours."
If you"ll believe me, there were tears in old Blair"s eyes. He was soft at times. The Squire gave him another thrust, which nearly sent Blair into the pigeon-house, and then walked off with his head up and his nankeen coat-skirts held out behind, to watch Drew give the green meat to the pigs. Blair got over his push, and went to find Miss Mary, his thin cheeks alight with a spot as red as Sanker"s had worn when his illness was coming on.
They went up to London that day. The Squire had plenty of sense when he chose to exercise it; and instead of trusting to his own investigation and Blair"s (which would have been the likeliest thing for him to do in general) he took a lawyer to the spot.
It proved to be all right. The gentleman giving up the school had made some money at it, and was going abroad to his friends, who had settled in Queensland. Any efficient man, he said to the Squire, able to _keep_ pupils when once he had secured them, could not fail to do well at it.
The clergyman, Mr. Lockett, had called on one or two of the parents, who confirmed what was a.s.serted. Altogether it was a straightforward thing, but they wouldn"t abate a shilling of the four hundred pounds.
The Squire concluded the bargain on the spot, for other applicants were after it, and there was danger in delay. He came back to d.y.k.e Manor; and the next thing he did was to accompany Mary Sanker home, and tell the news there.
Mr. Blair stayed in London to take possession, and get things in order.
He had only time for a few days" flying visit to Mr. and Mrs. Sanker in Wales before opening his new school. There was no opposition there: people are apt to judge prospects according to their own circ.u.mstances; and they seemed to think it a good offer for Mary.
There was no opposition anywhere. Dr. Frost found a new mathematical master without trouble, and sent Blair his best wishes and a full set of plated spoons and forks and things, engraved with the initials P. M. B.
He was wise enough to lay out the sum he wished to give in useful things, instead of a silver tea-pot or any other grand article of that kind, which would not be brought to light once a year.
Blair cribbed a week"s holiday at Michaelmas, and went down to be married. We saw them at the week"s end as they pa.s.sed through Worcester station. Mary looked the same sweet girl as ever, in the same quiet grey dress (or another that was related to it); and Blair was jolly. He clasped the Squire"s hands as if he wanted to take them with him. We handed in a big basket of grapes and nectarines from Mrs. Todhetley; and Mary"s nice face smiled and nodded her thanks to the last, as the train puffed on.
"Good luck to them!" said Tod.
Good luck to them. You will hear what luck they had.
For this is _not_ the end of that Sunday night"s work, or it would have hardly been worth relating, seeing that people get married every day, and no one thinks cheese of it but themselves. The end has to come.
XII.
"JERRY"S GAZETTE."
The school, taken to by Mr. Blair, was in one of the suburbs of London.
It may be as well not to mention which of them; but some of the families yet living there cannot fail to remember the circ.u.mstances when they read this. For what I am going to tell you of is true. It did not happen last year; nor the year before. When it did happen, is of no consequence to any one.
When Pyefinch Blair got into the house, he found that it had some dilapidations, which had escaped his notice, and would have to be repaired. Not an uncommon case by any means. Mr. Blair paid the four hundred pounds for the school, including the furniture and good-will, and that drained him of his money. It was not a bad bargain, as bargains go. He then had the house put into fair order, and bought a little more furniture that seemed necessary to him, intending that his boys should be comfortable, as well as the young wife he was soon to bring home.
The school did not profess to be one of those higher-cla.s.s schools that charge a hundred a year and extras. It was moderate in terms and moderate in size; the pupils being chiefly sons of well-to-do tradesmen, some of them living on the spot. At first, Blair (bringing with him his Cambridge notions) entertained thoughts of raising the school to a higher price and standard. But it would have been a risk; almost like beginning a fresh venture. And when he found that the school paid well, and masters and boys got on comfortably, he dropped the wish.
More than two years went by. One evening, early in February, Mrs. Blair was sitting by the parlour fire after tea, with a great boy on her lap, who was forward with his tongue, and had just begun to walk with a totter. I don"t think you could have seen much difference in _her_ from what she was as Mary Sanker. She had the same neat sort of dress and quiet manner, the fresh gentle face and sweet eyes, and the pretty, smooth brown hair. Her husband told her sometimes that she would spoil the boys with kindness. If any one fell into disgrace, she was sure to beg him off; it was wonderful what a good mother she was to them, and only twenty-four years old yet.
Mr. Blair was striding the carpet with his head down, as one in perplexed thought, a scowl upon his brow. It was something unusual, for he was always bright. He was as slender and good-looking a fellow as he used to be. Mrs. Blair noticed him and spoke.
"Have you a headache, Pyefinch?" She had long ago got over the odd sound of his Christian name. Habit familiarizes most things.
"No."
"What is it, then?"
He did not make any answer; seemed not to hear her. Mrs. Blair put the boy down on the hearthrug. The child was baptized Joseph, after Squire Todhetley, whom they persisted in calling their best friend.
"Run to papa, Joe. Ask him what the matter is."
The young gentleman went swaying across the carpet, with some unintelligible language of his own. Mr. Blair had no resource but to pick him up: and he carried him back to his mother.
"What is the matter, Pyefinch?" she asked again, taking his hand. "I am sure you are not well."
"I am quite well," he said; "but I have got into a little bother lately.
What ails me this evening is, that I find I must tell you of it, and I don"t like to do so. There, Mary, send the child away."
She knew the nursemaid was busy; would not ring, but carried him out herself. Mr. Blair was sitting down when she returned, staring into the fire.
"I had hoped you would never know it, Mary; I had not intended that you should. The fact is----"
Mr. Blair stopped. His wife glanced at him; a serene calm in her eyes, a firm reliance in her loving tone.
"Do not hesitate, Pyefinch. The greater the calamity, the more need that I should hear it."
"Nay, it is no such great mischief as to be called a calamity. When I took to this house and school, I incurred a debt, and I am suddenly called upon to pay it."
"Do you mean Mr. Todhetley"s?"
A smile at the question crossed the schoolmaster"s face. "Mr.
Todhetley"s was a present; I thought you understood that, Mary. When I would have spoken of returning it, you may remember that he went into a pa.s.sion."
"What debt is it, then?"
"I paid four hundred pounds, you know, for the school; half of it I had saved; the other half was given by Mr. Todhetley. Well and good, so far. But I had not thought of one thing--the money that would be wanted for current expenses, and for the hundred and one odd things that stare you in the face upon taking to a new concern. Repairs had to be done, furniture to be bought in; and not a penny coming in until the end of the quarter: not much then, for most of the boys pay half-yearly.
Lockett, who was down here most days, saw that if I could not get some money to go on with, there would be no resource but to re-sell the school. He bestirred himself, and got me the loan of a hundred and fifty pounds from a friend, at only five per cent. interest. This money I am suddenly called upon to repay."