"His name is Churchill. You'll find no better clearer-headed man."
Then George Harding went away, and for the first and last time in his life exerted his influence, and requested the return of favours which he had frequently granted. He must have been well satisfied with the result of his work. Three days after Harding's interview with the Treasury Secretary, Churchill, idling at Brighton, was telegraphed for to Downing Street. The next week the London Gazette contained the appointment of Francis Churchill, Esquire, to be one of the Commissioners appointed for levying her Majesty's Tin-Tax, vice Charles Beresford, Esquire, retired.
Mr. Beresford, pursued with the most unrelenting animosity by Scadgers, found himself opposed at every step,--even when, in sheer despair, he petitioned the Court,--and opposed so successfully, that he was remanded for two years. This period he passed in prison, and in cultivating the mysteries of racket, écarté and piquet, in the two last of which he became a great proficient. It is to be hoped that they will be of service to him on the Continent, whither, having eventually obtained his release, he has repaired; and where his gentlemanly bearing and knowledge of the world will probably enable him to earn a very decent income from the innocent young Englishmen always to be picked up in travelling.
Mr. Prescott married Miss Murray, and, for a time, lived in London, and attended his office with great regularity. But the old squire found he could not live without his daughter, and simultaneously discovered that it was absolutely necessary that his estate should be more closely looked after than it had been. So, at his father-in-law's desire, Mr. Prescott resigned his appointment, and took up his quarters at Brooklands, where he and his wife are thoroughly happy; and where he discharges his duties of shooting, fishing, and hunting, to his own and his wife's great satisfaction. They have two sturdy children; a girl Kate, to whom Mr. Simnel is sponsor, and a boy Jim, who, under the guidance of his godfather Mr. Pringle, is already being indoctrinated into all kinds of mischief.
Dear honest old George Pringle is still single. "Time, sir," he sometimes says to Prescott, "has bereft me of charms once divine," laying his hand on a bald place about the size of a shilling on the crown of his head; "but I defy him. I and Madame Rachel are the only people who are beautiful for ever." He is very happy, having risen well in his office, and he still hates Mr. Dibb with all the intensity of former years.
Mr. Simnel, after some months, came back cured of his illness, but quite an altered man; his hair had become quite white, and his back was bowed like that of a very old man. Occasionally he goes down to see his colleague Mr. Churchill, or to spend Saturday and Sunday with Mr. Prescott's family; but his ordinary life is a very quiet one, and seems divided between his office and the True-Blue Club, in the card-room of which he is to be found every night prepared to hold his own at whist against all comers.
Mr. Scadgers still pursues his trade; but I hear that he is now considering the advances of a joint-stock company, who wish to buy his business, under the title of The Government-Clerks' Own Friend and Unlimited. Advance Company (limited), and who propose to make Jinks manager with a large salary.
There is no Mrs. Schröder now, and no house appertaining to any one of that name in Saxe-Coburg Square. Captain and Mrs. Lyster live in a large house at Maidenhead, known to their friends as "The Staircase," from the enormous size of the escalier, but really known as Wingroves,--a fine old-fashioned Queen-Anne mansion, facing the river, where they are thoroughly happy. Their son Fred is supposed by his parents to be a prodigy, and is really a healthy pleasant boy.
Near them is a little cottage with a trim garden, passing by which in the summer you will generally see a white-haired old lady, on a rustic seat, reading a book and enjoying the sunlight.
Then comes a shout, a clanging of the garden-gate, an irruption of children, wild cries of "Granny!" and the old lady is hustled away to find fruit or play at games. This is old Mrs. Churchill, who has never been so happy in her life.