The Luck of Gerard Ridgeley - Bertram Mitford

Was Gerard standing upon air, or only upon very solid and rather dry ground? He himself could hardly have told. Could he believe his ears? Did he grasp aright the other’s meaning? Why, such an arrangement as that suggested, apart from being in itself just the very thing that suited him thoroughly, would mean a sojourn beneath the same roof as May, and that for an indefinite period. He managed, however, to reply coherently, and to the effect that he considered himself most fortunate, etc., etc.

“Well, think it over,” was the reply, “and if you’re in the same mind this day week—by which time I expect you will have had about enough of town life—drop us a line, and follow it yourself. We are leaving for home to-morrow, and shall expect to hear from you in any case when you have made up your mind.”

When he had made up his mind! The only part of the arrangement which did not commend itself to Gerard was this very delay. A week is a pretty short time—but to him, under the circumstances, it seemed an age.

We must now take leave of our friend, Gerard Ridgeley, and we do so in a spirit of prophecy. We need hardly predict that he will betake himself to Doorn Draai at the expiration of that week, there to learn farming under the auspices of Mr Kingsland, for it is too obvious that he will inevitably do so. But, having done so, what we venture to predict, in no uncertain mind, is that he will inevitably make his way. To this we will append another prophecy; no, rather we will only hint at one—but softly, cautiously, for are we not treading on delicate ground? and the future is uncertain. Be it remembered, however, that Gerard is young, and rather a fine fellow— And have we not said that May Kingsland is a very pretty and sweet girl?

The End.