“Betsey, thou forgettest that he will still have the latter.”
“You are much wrapped up in your business, Mr. Goldencalf, and are not, in other respects, qualified to educate a boy born to the curse and to the temptations of immense riches.”
My excellent ancestor looked as if he thought his dying consort had in sooth finally taken leave of her senses.
“There are public schools, Betsey; I promise thee the child shall not be forgotten: I will have him well taught, though it cost me a thousand a year!”
His wife reached forth her emaciated hand to that of my father, and pressed the latter with as much force as a dying mother could use. For a fleet moment she even appeared to have gotten rid of her latest care. But the knowledge of character that had been acquired by the hard experience of thirty years, was not to be unsettled by the gratitude of a moment.
“I wish, Mr. Goldencalf,” she anxiously resumed, “to receive your solemn promise to commit the education of our boy to Dr. Etherington—you know his worth, and must have full confidence in such a man.”
“Nothing would give me greater satisfaction, my dear Betsey; and if Dr. Etherington will consent to receive him, I will send Jack to his house this very evening; for, to own the truth, I am but little qualified to take charge of a child under a year old. A hundred a year, more or less, shall not spoil so good a bargain.”
The divine was a gentleman, and he looked grave at this speech, though, meeting the anxious eyes of my mother, his own lost their displeasure in a glance of reassurance and pity.
“The charges of his education will be easily settled, Mr. Goldencalf,” added my mother; “but the Doctor has consented with difficulty to take the responsibility of my poor babe, and that only under two conditions.”
The stock-dealer required an explanation with his eyes.