“Yes, for certain; the clergyman says it would be a sin for a boy of his cleverness not to go, and so I think.”
“Well, learning’s a great thing; and when a gamekeeper’s son does take a fit of it, I suppose it’s all right to humour it. But you and I, wife, can get on very well without it.”
“Speak for yourself,” retorted Mrs Argent; “I wish you had half as much in your head as that boy has got, that’s all!”
“And I suppose you wish you’d got the other half, eh? Stuff!”
And after this little tiff the worthy couple were silent for a while. Presently Mrs Argent again spoke. “I wonder what they’ll do about the church organ when George’s gone?”
“Ah! you may say so,” said the husband, with a touch of importance in his voice which became a churchwarden when speaking of church matters; “it’ll be hard to fill his place there.”
“So it will. Did you stay after the service on Sunday?”
“No; you know I had to go round to the curate’s. Why?”
“Just because if you’d heard him play you’d have been glued to your chair, as I was. It was beautiful. I couldn’t have got up from that chair if I’d tried.”
“Good job you didn’t try, if you were glued down, especially in your Sunday gown. I shouldn’t care to have to buy many of them a month.”