The result of this soliloquy was the letter which had so disturbed the equanimity of Mrs. Tom Grigson at the breakfast-table; and, to tell the truth, it also took Mr. Tom a little aback. But he soon recovered himself.
"Dick has as much right to please himself by taking a wife as ever I had," said he; "and I'll go down to his wedding," he added.
It could not be denied, however, that this new move (as it was called) of Dick's sent all, or a good many, previous calculations to the right-about. And our friend Tom congratulated himself more than ever on having brought up his son to business instead of sending him to Oxford.
"As it isn't at all likely our boy will come to the estate now," he said to his wife, when they were by themselves, "it is a good thing to have put him in the way of being independent without it, which he mightn't have been if we had made a scholar of him."
There was another source of congratulation also—namely, that the young fellow's match with his cousin had been made so long ago, and was progressing without any palpable hitch.
"I wish Tom was a little more in earnest about it," the father went on; "but, as he says, it will come on in time. And then, when they are married, Tom will have got a snug nest, anyhow."
Tom the elder did go down to his brother's wedding, and so did Tom the younger. Mrs. Tom Grigson was also prevailed upon to dispose of her chagrin and go also. Richard Grigson was profoundly touched by this almost unlooked-for kindness on their part.
"I always knew you were a good fellow, dear old Tom!" said Dick. "But I was half afraid you would turn rusty."
"Nonsense, Richard! The world's wide enough for us all, isn't it? And there's no one wishes you all sorts of happiness in your married life more heartily than I do. All sorts of happiness, mind," he added.
