“I know of a very fine chance for any one that’s got the necessary money and that’s what you have, Tulliver. The fact is, I wouldn’t recommend any friend of mine to send a boy to a regular school, if he could afford to do better. But if any one wanted his boy to get superior instruction and training, where he would be the companion of his master, and that master a first rate fellow, I know his man. I wouldn’t mention the chance to everybody, because I don’t think everybody would succeed in getting it, if he were to try; but I mention it to you, Tulliver, between ourselves.” The fixed inquiring glance with which Mr Tulliver had been watching his friend’s oracular face became quite eager. “Ay, now, let’s hear,” he said, adjusting himself in his chair with the complacency of a person who is thought worthy of important communications. “He’s an Oxford man,” said Mr Riley, sententiously, shutting his mouth close, and looking at Mr Tulliver to observe the effect of this stimulating information. “What! a parson?” said Mr Tulliver, rather doubtfully. “Yes, and an M.A. The bishop, I understand, thinks very highly of him: why, it was the bishop who got him his present curacy.” “Ah?” said Mr Tulliver, to whom one thing was as wonderful as another concerning these unfamiliar phenomena. “But what can he want wi’ Tom, then?” “Why, the fact is, he’s fond of teaching, and wishes to keep up his studies, and a clergyman has but little opportunity for that in his parochial duties. He’s willing to take one or two boys as pupils to fill up his time profitably. The boys would be quite of the family,—the finest thing in the world for them; under Stelling’s eye continually.” “But do you think they’d give the poor lad twice o’ pudding?” said Mrs Tulliver, who was now in her place again. “He’s such a boy for pudding as never was; an’ a growing boy like that,—it’s dreadful to think o’ their stintin’ him.” “And what money ’ud he want?” said Mr Tulliver, whose instinct told him that the services of this admirable M.A. would bear a high price. “Why, I know of a clergyman who asks a hundred and fifty with his youngest pupils, and he’s not to be mentioned with Stelling, the man I speak of. I know, on good authority, that one of the chief people at Oxford said, Stelling might get the highest honours if he chose. But he didn’t care about university honours; he’s a quiet man—not noisy.” “Ah, a deal better—a deal better,” said Mr Tulliver; “but a hundred and fifty’s an uncommon price. I never thought o’ paying so much as that.” “A good education, let me tell you, Tulliver,—a good education is cheap at the money. But Stelling is moderate in his terms; he’s not a grasping man. I’ve no doubt he’d take your boy at a hundred, and that’s what you wouldn’t get many other clergymen to do. I’ll write to him about it, if you like.” Mr Tulliver rubbed his knees, and looked at the carpet in a meditative manner.