But Sir Thomas had two friends in the ministry, Messrs. Tadpole and Taper (the Right Honourable Benjamin Disraeli knows them, and has made notable mention of them in his tale of “Coningsby”), whose views were exactly in accordance with his own, i.e.—to take the best possible care of their own interests, and (whenever that purpose could be best insured by their so doing) of each other’s also; and Sir Thomas had that morning received the following note, marked “private and confidential,” from his friend Tadpole:—
“Dear Sir Thomas,—I have just learned, from an unmistakable quarter, that it is Lord ————-’s (naming the Premier for the time being) intention to apply to you for your living of Ashburn for the nephew of Mr. —————, the colonial Bishop of Boreanigger. The coalition is still quite upon the cards, so it would scarcely be advisable to say ‘no;’ while, if they go out, which is more than probable, to say ‘yes’ would be certain to give offence where you would least wish to do so. I would therefore suggest that, if you have not already filled up the vacancy, it would be most desirable to do so without delay, and you will thus avoid the difficulty—verbum sat.
“I am, dear Sir Thomas, yours very faithfully.
“A. Tadpole.”
“P.S. You will kindly bear in mind that clerkship in the Woods and Forests; young Grig, Mrs. Tadpole’s nephew, is a very promising lad, and in good hands might do credit to his patron.”
Sir Thomas read and re-read the letter. How fortunate that Tadpole had ferreted out this information! but for that he might have been forced to commit himself irrevocably to the wrong side—horrible idea! Yes, Tadpole was right: the living must be disposed of without an hour’s delay: who should he give it to? It must be some one without political influence or connection, Zest he should give offence to either party! At this moment, from one of those strange chances which occasionally appear to determine the whole destiny of a lifetime by the agency of a mere trifle, Sir Thomas knocked some papers off his desk, and as he stooped to pick them up, the card Ernest Carrington had sent in some weeks before fell from among them. He raised it, and regarding it fixedly, as though he were scrutinizing the person whose name it bore, muttered—
“Young Carrington, he is in the Church—why should not he do? He might, of course, be had at a minute’s notice;—£800 a year would be a fortune to him;—besides, there’s policy in the thing—I find North Park (a farm of some five hundred acres) is in the entail; if he were to get scent of it, and could obtain access to the papers, he might claim it any day; his boyish, chivalrous scruples are sure to wear out; this would bind him to me by the the of gratitude: he is just one of those hot-headed, romantic dispositions that are always absurdly grateful. Gad! I could not have hit on a fitter person; I’ll write to him at once: I’ve got his direction, somewhere”—as he spoke, he began tossing over papers and letters in search of the missing direction. “A very good thought,” he continued; “I could see through that young fellow in a minute; he may be managed as easy as a child, if you only take advantage of his weak points. I like ’em of what they call an open disposition; they show you their whole hand at starting; it’s your close, crafty, quiet dogs that are the hardest to deal with. I shall make a point with him that he gets every farthing out of that proud, haughty Mrs. Colville, and her conceited, stuck-up minx of a daughter; they’ve looked down upon me, and never liked me, I know: they’ll be sorry for it some day.”
Ernest Carrington, when he returned to his rooms after morning school, found two letters on his table. The first he opened was from Dr. Donkiestir, and ran as follows:—
“My Dear Sir,—It is with considerable pain that I feel it ny duty to urge upon you the propriety of resigning your position, as Mathematical and Classical Master, at the school of which I have the honour to be Principal. As regards talent and acquirements, I have never before had so able an assistant, but there are other qualities necessary in the onerous position of second-master of such a school as that over which I have, since its establishment, presided, which are equally important. In these qualities, the injudicious manner in which you this morning allowed, what I admit to have been an impulse of generous feeling, to hurry you into a breach of scholastic discipline, which a more hasty man than myself might have construed into a personal insult, proves you to be utterly wanting. It is to avoid the possibility of your again placing both yourself and me in such a false and difficult position, that I thus reluctantly press upon you the advisability of your immediate resignation. When a few more years shall have passed over your head, maturing your judgment, and tempering your impulsive disposition, I can conceive you will prove eminently qualified for the responsible, yet interesting office of an instructor to youth. In the meantime, I would advise your looking out for a curacy, or a situation as tutor to some young nobleman about to travel. I shall have much pleasure in giving you unexceptionable testimonials for such a purpose, or in furthering you. interest, to the extent of my power, in any other manner you may point out.—Awaiting your reply,
“I remain, dear Sir,