He went to sleep in a very happy, exalted frame of mind, and felt that life had taken an unexpected stride in the right direction.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE WISDOM OF PHILANDER
When Ned Dingle returned home, his future still unsettled, he had the privilege of an early visit from Mr. Knox.
They sat in Ned’s small kitchen garden, and Philander advised him to plant his peas.
“Damn the peas,” said Ned. “Listen to me. I was as good as booked at Ivybridge when I got your letter telling me to hang on. What’s the good all the same? I don’t know why for I should have listened to you, but I know you’ve got sense, and so I left it for the minute. I can’t go back to Trenchard, if that’s what you meant.”
“I meant a lot of things,” answered the elder. “I think so deuced highly of you, Dingle, that you’ve got on my mind more than any man ever did before, and I’m very wishful, for more reasons than one, to do you a turn. For the minute, however, it rests with you.”
“I know it does. I’m fed up with hearing that. Well, I’m going on with it. I’m going to get the heaviest damages the law will give me out of that swine.”
“Good—so far as it goes. And if things weren’t exactly as they are, I should say ditto. But it’s a very peculiar case, quite contrary to my experience, and it calls for a pinch of patience yet. Nobody has any right to dictate to you, because you’re a man of good judgment, and I reckon you’ve done dead right so far, and kept your nerve better than I should, or many older men with less intellects; but don’t you spoil the ship for a hap’p’oth of tar, Ned. It’s paid you so mighty well to wait and hang off, that it may pay you better still to go on waiting.”