“Rodway has retired,” he shouted, “and we can't be sure in the office, but the betting is four to one—I'm ten myself—that the Board has appointed Perkins Chief Clerk,” and Lighthead did some steps of a triumphal character.
“The Secretary appeared this morning after the Board had met 'There's a letter their Honours wish taken at once to Mr. Perkins. Can any of you deliver it at his residence?' Then the other men looked at me, because—well, Perkins has been friendly with me; and that hansom came very creditably indeed.
“Very low, eh? Doctors afraid not last over the night—that's hard lines... but I say, they did not reckon on this letter. Could not you read it to him? You see this was his one ambition. He could never be Secretary, not able enough, but he was made for Chief Clerk. Now he's got it, or I would not have been sent out skimming with this letter. Read it to him, and the dear old chap will be on his legs in a week.”
It seemed good advice, and this was what I read, while Perkins lay very still and did his best to breathe:—
“Dear Mr. Perkins,—
“I have the pleasure to inform you that the Board have appointed you Chief Clerk in the Schedule Department in succession to Gustavus Rodway, Esq., who retires, and their Honours desire me further to express their appreciation of your long and valuable service, and their earnest hope that you may be speedily restored to health. I am,
“Your obedient servant,
“Arthur Wraxhall,
“Secretary.”
For a little time it was too much for Mr. Perkins, and then he whispered:—