"Well, Uncle, I was going to Oxford, you know, but I'm afraid I shall be too old for a scholarship next year, and--and it would cost too much without."
Lawrence spoke awkwardly, colouring to the roots of his hair.
"You could manage on £400 a year, I suppose?" said Mr. Appleton, dryly.
"Much less, Uncle. I know a chap who did jolly well on £200, and saved."
"What will you do when you come down? Take a clerkship at thirty shillings a week, or teach little ruffians good cricket and bad Latin on forty?"
"I thought of trying for the Indian Civil, Uncle. I should like it immensely after being out here."
"Stiff exam, isn't it?"
"I can swat, sir."
"I believe you can! Well, I'm going to settle my silver money on Bob and you." [Here there was what the reporters call a "sensation.">[ "It should bring in £1500 a year even in the safest security. You shall have £400 each until you're twenty-five; after that you'll share the whole lot equally between you. Think I'm mad, Major?"
"I wish you'd bite an old uncle of mine," said the Major with a laugh. "I congratulate you young fellows; you deserve it all."