"He did," said Dizzy, "and his waist was twenty-two inches round. His name was Mary." But here Mr. Stubbs's attention was demanded by his other neighbour, Mrs. Toller, who had learnt enough of Mr. Binney's late doings to satisfy her for the present, and had caught a few scraps of the conversation addressed to her daughter, and thought it a trifle free.
"And what may you be going to do, Mr. Stubbs, when you leave college?" she asked with a slight touch of asperity.
"Well, 'pon my word, I don't know," replied Dizzy, who may have been a little surprised at the directness of the inquiry, but didn't show it. "I leave all that sort of thing to my old father, you know. He's got plenty of ideas on the subject, but he changes 'em about once a month. I fall in with 'em all and give 'em up directly the new one comes along. It keeps him out of mischief, having something to think about, and it don't hurt me. I think it's the Church just at present—or is it brewing? No, brewing was last term. My old father read in the papers that the country spends more money on its drink bills than on anything else, so he thought that if I was put in a position to enable me to receipt a few of 'em, it wouldn't be a bad thing. However, he gave up the idea for some reason or other, and now we're turning our attention to the Church."
"And do you feel that you have any vocation for the ministry?" asked Mrs. Toller.
"Oh! I shall rub along all right," said Dizzy. "I've an old uncle who's got several livings in his gift. He'll give me one if I want it, I dare say. There's one up in Lincolnshire,—not much money, but a nice house, and five hundred acres of rough shooting—you don't often get that sort of thing with a rectory nowadays—and only about fifty people in the parish. I shouldn't mind going there, and I dare say I could if I wanted to. My old uncle's place is in the next parish, and I could have a very good time."
Mrs. Toller listened with inward disapproval, but the mention of Dizzy's uncle with his patronage and his "place" disarmed her rancour, she being as arrant a snob as ever walked, and she said with much sweetness:
"Don't you think, Mr. Stubbs, that the system of patronage adopted by the Established Church is a little—what shall I say?—a little—"
"I do," said Dizzy with warmth. "I quite agree with you. I think it's perfectly monstrous. Now, look at my old uncle—well, perhaps I oughtn't to let out family secrets—but I assure you that for that old man to be able to present people to livings—though, mind you, he's a very nice old man, and I've nothing to say against him—well, upon my word, it's enough to make you turn Particular Baptist or something—never quite know why Baptists should be more particular than anybody else—-oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Toller—'pon my word I forgot we weren't of the same way of thinking—clumsy beggar, always putting my foot in it—but you're not what they call a Particular Baptist, are you?"
"Certainly not," said Mrs. Toller. "The Particular Baptists were——"
"Quite so. Yes, I remember. And I know, of course, that Dr. Toller is a most distinguished leader of religious thought—everybody knows that. I ought to have remembered that he didn't happen to belong to the same Church as I do—stupid of me. But, you know, the truth of it is, Mrs. Toller, that when a man gets up to the top of the tree, well, he may be Archbishop of Canterbury, or a Cardinal or—or a man like your husband, and to a fellow like me who don't follow these things very closely, well, there isn't much difference, don't you know."