“What, turned preacher!  A prudent move that, Tony.  I’ve heard that old Ironsides has no less than five rich livings in his gift.  Now, by Jove!  I’d turn parson to-morrow, if I thought my uncle would be dutiful enough to bestow one or two of them upon me.  How would the ’Rev. Godfrey Hurdlestone’ look upon a visiting card?”

He wrote upon a card, and held it up to Anthony.  “See the address of the Right Worshipful Rector of Ashton.  Behold him riding upon a fine cob—­living in a fine house—­surrounded by sleek, well-fed, obsequious servants—­his table served like a prince—­his wine the best in the country—­his parties the most brilliant—­his friends the most obliging in the world—­his curate does all the work for some paltry sixty pounds a-year, and the rich incumbent lives at his ease.  Ah, Tony, what a prospect!  What rare times we would have of it!  To-morrow, when my father asks me to make choice of a profession, hang me if I do not say the Church.”

“You are not fit for so sacred a calling, Godfrey; indeed you are not,” said Anthony, fearful that his burlesquing cousin for once in his life was in earnest.

“I know that better than you can tell me, Tony, but ’tis such an easy way to get a living; I could enjoy such glorious indolence; could fish, and hunt, and shoot, and play the fiddle, and attend feasts and merry-makings, with such a happy consciousness of being found in the path of duty, that it would give a double zest to enjoyment.  Now don’t be envious, my dear demure cousin, and forestall me in my project.  I am sure to gain my father’s consent.  It will save him so much trouble for the future.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Algernon.

“Come, boys, dinner is waiting.  My dear Anthony, after that important business is dispatched, I want to talk to you in the library upon a matter of serious importance, which I have, I fear, neglected too long.  Nay, don’t look alarmed; it is not to administer a scolding, or to question you in Greek or Latin; or to ask you how you have improved your time at school, for I take it for granted that you have both done your best, or I should have heard from Mr. Cunningham, who, they say, is the strictest disciplinarian in the kingdom.”

Now, Anthony could not eat his dinner for thinking what his uncle had to say to him; but he had to wait patiently until that gentleman had discussed his bottle of wine; and it was not without a certain sinking of the heart that he rose to follow him to the library.  Godfrey’s curiosity was aroused; he fancied that it was to make some private inquiries as to his conduct at school, that his father wanted to speak alone with his cousin.

“May I come?”

“No, my boy.  What I have to say to Anthony is for him alone.”

“Humph!” said Godfrey; then whispering to Anthony as he passed, “No tales out of school, Tony,” he sauntered into the garden.

“What ails you, Anthony?” said the good-natured uncle, as he took a seat by the table.