“No!”
“Oh, then I suppose it’s to be America. Well, you will easily find company to go with. Such numbers are going nowadays—I am sorry to say. . . .”
Peer pulled himself together. “Oh, no, not that at all.” Better get it out at once. “I wish to be a priest,” he said, speaking with a careful town accent.
The schoolmaster rose from his seat, holding his long pipe up in the air in one hand, and pressing his ear forward with the other, as though to hear better. “What?—what did you say?”
“A priest,” repeated Peer, but he moved behind his chair as he spoke, for it looked as if the schoolmaster might fling the pipe at his head.
But suddenly the red face broke into a smile, exposing such an array of greenish teeth as Peer had never seen before. Then he said in a sort of singsong, nodding: “A priest? Oh, indeed! Quite a small matter!” He rose and wandered once or twice up and down the room, then stopped, nodded, and said in a fatherly tone—to one of the bookshelves: “H’m—really—really—we’re a little ambitious, are we not?”
He turned on Peer suddenly. “Look here, my young friend—don’t you think your benefactor has been quite generous enough to you already?”
“Yes, indeed he has,” said Peer, his voice beginning to tremble a little.
“There are thousands of boys in your position who are thrown out in the world after confirmation and left to shift for themselves, without a soul to lend them a helping hand.”
“Yes,” gasped Peer, looking round involuntarily towards the door.