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Updated: May 8, 2025
Late in the evening, so late that the boys had already gone to bed, the Doctor sent again for Mr. Peacocke. "I should not have troubled you to-night," he said, "only that I have heard something from Pritchett." Pritchett was the rectory gardener who had charge also of the school buildings, and was a person of great authority in the establishment. He, as well the Doctor, held Mr.
It is true that in the allegorical tableau at the end of Memory's Garland the wreath, which was of large artificial roses, had been made of such generous proportions that when the Muses placed it on the head of slender Elnathan Pritchett, representing "The Poet," it slipped over his ears, down over his narrow shoulders, and sliding rapidly toward the floor was only caught by him in time to hold it in place upon his stomach.
After all, five thousand pounds was the whole sum total that was rescued out of the fire. What was five thousand pounds? How much could he expect to get from such a sum as that? Perhaps, after all, he had better take Miss Baker. But then her pittance was only for her life. How he did hate his departed brother at that moment! Poor Pritchett wheezed and sighed again. "Ah!" said he to himself.
This was said in a tone that was not only serious, but full of melancholy. Mr. Pritchett had probably never joked in his life, and had certainly never been less inclined to do so than now, when his patron was dying, and all his patron's money was to go into other and into unknown hands. Some other information Bertram received from his most faithful ally.
"Perhaps so; but three hundred pounds never hurt anybody never, Mr. George; and I can tell you this: if you play your cards well, you may be the old gentleman's heir, in spite of all he says to the contrary." "At any rate, Mr. Pritchett, I'm very much obliged to you:" and so they parted. "He'll throw that three hundred pounds in my teeth the next time I see him," said George to himself.
George, shaking hands with him, warmly assured him that the money had always been quite right as long as it lasted. "A little does not go a long way, I'm sure, in those very foreign parts," said Mr. Pritchett, oracularly. "But, Mr. George, why didn't you write, eh, Mr. George?" "You don't mean to say that my uncle expected to hear from me?" "He asked very often whether I had any tidings. Ah! Mr.
"So Pritchett came to you, did he? and sent you down at a moment's notice? ha! ha! He's a solemn old prig, is Pritchett; but a good servant; a very good servant. When I am gone, he'll have enough to live on; but he'll want some one to say a word to him now and again. Don't forget what I say about him. It's not so easy to find a good servant."
But he did not know, nor though he was very suspicious on the matter did he quite suspect what was the truth as to Miss Waddington. She was niece to his patron's niece; he knew no more than that, excepting, of course, that she was the daughter of Mr. Waddington, and that she was mistress in her own right of four thousand pounds. Mr. Pritchett was very anxious about his patron's wealth.
He positively refused to consider the proposition; and his uncle, with equal positiveness, refused to hold any further converse with him on the subject of a profession. "Pritchett will pay you your present allowance," said he, "for two years longer that is, if I live." "I can do without it, sir," said George.
"There can be nothing better," said Peacocke drawing his breath, as though a gleam of light had shone in upon him. "I had not meant to have spoken to you of this till to-morrow. I should not have done so, but that Pritchett had been with me. But the more I thought of it, the more sure I became that you could not both remain, till something had been done; till something had been done."
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