Jack Smith whistled. “Are you sure it is not a hoax?” he said, with a serious face. “I think not,” the rector-elect replied. “Perhaps I have given you a wrong impression. I have had nothing to do with the earl; but my uncle was his tutor.” “Oh!” said Smith slowly, “that makes all the difference. What uncle?” “You have heard me speak of him. He was vicar of St. Gabriel’s, Aldgate. He died about a year ago—last October, I think. Lord Dynmore and he were good friends, and my uncle used often to stay at his place in Scotland. I suppose my name must have come up some time when they were talking.” “Likely enough,” assented the lawyer. “But for the earl to remember it, he must be one in a hundred!” “It is certainly very good of him,” Lindo replied, his cheek flushing. “If it had been a small country living, and my uncle had been alive to jog his elbow, I should not have been so much surprised.” “And you are just twenty-five!” Jack Smith observed, leaning back in his chair, and eyeing his friend with undisguised and whimsical admiration. “You will be the youngest rector in the Clergy List, I should think! And Claversham! By Jove, what a berth!” A queer expression of annoyance for a moment showed itself in Lindo’s face. “I say, Jack, stow that!” he said gently, and with a little shamefacedness. “I mean,” he continued, smoothing down the nap on his hat, “that I do not want to look at it altogether in that way, and I do not want others to regard it so.” “As a berth, you mean?” Jack said gravely, but with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, from the loaves and fishes point of view,” Lindo commenced, beginning to walk up and down the room. “I do not think an officer, when he gets promotion, looks only at the increase in his pay. Of course I am glad that it is a good living, and that I shall have a house, and a good position, and all that. But I declare to you, Jack, believe me or not as you like, that if I did not feel that I could do the work as I hope, please God, to do it, I would not take it up—I would not, indeed. As it is, I feel the responsibility. I have been thinking about it as I walked down here, and upon my honor for a while I thought I ought to decline it.” “I would not do that!” said Gallio, dismissing the twinkle from his eye, and really respecting his old friend, perhaps, a little more than before. “You are not the man, I think, to shun either work or responsibility. Did I tell you,” he continued in a different tone, “that I had an uncle at Claversham?” “No,” said Lindo, surprised in his turn. “Yes, and I think he is one of your church wardens. His name is Bonamy, and he is a solicitor. His London agent is my only client,” Jack said jerkily. “And he is one of the church wardens! Well, that is strange—and jolly!”