“Niver you eat the rind of a Dutch cheese! I says it as knows.”
Eva did not forget his advice.
CHAPTER XIII.
MR. CARDUS UNFOLDS HIS PLANS
“Ernest,” said Mr. Cardus, on the morning following the events described in the previous chapter, “I want to speak to you in my office—and you too, Jeremy.”
They both followed him into his room, wondering what was the matter. He sat down and so did they, and then, as was his habit, letting his eyes stray over every part of their persons except their faces, he began:
“It is time that you two fellows took to doing something for yourselves. You must not learn to be idle men—not that most young men require much teaching in that way. What do you propose to do?”
Jeremy and Ernest stared at one another rather blankly, but apparently Mr. Cardus did not expect an answer. At any rate, he went on before either of them could frame one.
“You don’t seem to know, never gave the matter any consideration probably; quite content to obey the Bible literally, and take no thought for the morrow. Well, it is lucky that you have somebody to think for you. Now I will tell you what I propose for you both. I want you, Ernest, to go to the bar. It is a foolish profession for most young men to take to, but it will not be so in your case, because, as it happens, if you show yourself capable, I shall by degrees be able to put a good deal of business in your hands—Chancery business, for I have little to do with any other. I daresay that you will wonder where the business is to come from. I don’t seem to do very much here, do I? with a mad old hunting-man as a clerk, and Dorothy to copy my private letters; but I do, for all that. I may as well tell you both, in confidence, that this place is only the head-centre of my business. I have another office in London, another at Ipswich, and another at Norwich, though they all carry on business under different names; besides which I have other agencies of a different nature. But all this is neither here nor there. I have communicated with Aster, the rising Chancery man, and he will have a vacancy in his chambers next term. Let me see—term begins on November 2nd; I propose, Ernest, to write to-day to enter you at Lincoln’s Inn. I shall make you an allowance of three hundred a year, which you must clearly understand you must not exceed. I think that is all I have to say about the matter.”
“I am sure I am very much obliged to you, uncle—” began Ernest, fervently, for since the previous evening he had clearly realised that it was necessary for him to make a beginning of doing something.
But his uncle cut him short.