"Ah, Mr. George," said Pritchett, wheezing, with his most melancholy sigh. "You shouldn't have left the old gentleman so long, sir. Indeed you shouldn't." "But he does not want to see me," said George. "Think what a sight of money that is!" continued Pritchett. "One would really think, Mr. George, that you objected to money. There is that gentleman, your particular friend, you know, the member of Parliament. He is down there constantly, paying his respects, as he calls it." "What, Mr. Harcourt?" "Yes, Mr. Harcourt. And he sends grapes in spring, and turkeys in summer, and green peas in winter." "Green peas in winter! they must cost something." "Of course they do; sprats to catch big fish with, Mr. George. And then the old gentleman has got a new lawyer; some sharp new light of Mr. Harcourt's recommending. Oh, Mr. George, Mr. George! do be careful, do now! Could not you go and buy a few ducks, or pigeons, and take them in a basket? The old gentleman does seem to like that kind of thing, though ten years since he was so different. Half a million of money, Mr. George! It's worth a few grapes and turkeys." And Mr. Pritchett shook his head and wrung his hands; for he saw that nothing he said produced any effect. George went to Hadley at last without ducks or pigeons, grapes or turkeys. He was very much amused however with the perpetual industry of his friend. "_Labor omnia vincit improbus_" said he to himself. "It is possible that Harcourt will find my uncle's blind side at last." He found the old gentleman considerably changed. There were, occasionally, flashes of his former customary, sarcastic pungency; now and again he would rouse himself to be ill-natured, antagonistic, and self-willed. But old age and illness had sadly told upon him; and he was content for the most part to express his humour by little shrugs, shakes of the head, and an irritable manner he had lately acquired of rubbing his hands quickly together. "Well, George," he said, when his nephew shook hands with him and asked after his health. "I hope you are better than you were, sir. I was sorry to hear that you had been again suffering." "Suffer, yes; a man looks to suffer when he gets to my age. He's a fool if he doesn't, at least. Don't trouble yourself to be sorry about it, George." "I believe you saw my father not long since?" Bertram said this, not quite knowing how to set the conversation going, so that he might bring in the tidings he had come there to communicate. "Yes, I did," said Mr. Bertram senior; and his hands went to work as he sat in the arm-chair. "Did you find him much altered since you last met? It was a great many years since, I believe?" "Not in the least altered. Your father will never alter." George now knew enough of his father's character to understand the point of this; so he changed the subject, and did that which a man who has anything to tell should always do at once; he commenced the telling of it forthwith.