“I will myself be a magistrate,” said Alvar.
“That you never will,” said Cherry, losing patience, “while these stories get about, for no one would trust you.”
“Can I not be a magistrate if I choose?”
“Not unless the Lord Lieutenant gives you a commission, of course.”
“I think there is power for every one but me!” said Alvar. “I may not punish that little—what is your word?—vulgar, common boy. I do not like so much law. Gentlemen should do as they wish. You talk so much about my being landlord and squire. What is the use of it if I may not do as I will? Well, I will send away Fleming from his farm—that is mine at least.”
“I am afraid he has a twenty-one years lease in it,” said Cheriton, rather wickedly, and Alvar, fancying himself laughed at, suddenly put the letter in his pocket and turned away, as the gong sounded for dinner. He disappeared afterwards when they went back to the library, and Cheriton had the forbearance to abstain from giving Jack the benefit of Alvar’s peculiar views on the British constitution, though they could not fail to speak of the events of the morning, and Jack said,—
“Well, at least he has heard reason about old Bill, and that was of most consequence; but I should think you would be glad to be back in London, and out of the way of it all.”
“I am not quite sure about London, Jack,” said Cheriton, after a moment.
“What, don’t you feel well enough?”
“I don’t think I shall ever be good for much there; and besides—I think I should like to talk to you a little, Jack, if you’ll listen.”