"St. John, St. John?" he said. "Yes, I think I recollect the name: very tall--stoops--a peaceable sort of being? Yes. So he's Chester's curate? Who would have thought it? I suppose he started in life as well as Chester did, or any of us. What has possessed him to stay so long there?"
"Well--he is, as you say, a peaceable, mild man; not one to push himself----"
"_Push_ himself!" cried the Master; "not much of that, I should think. But even if you don't push yourself, you needn't stay for twenty years a curate. What does he mean by it? I am afraid there must be something wrong."
"And I am quite sure there is nothing wrong," cried Mildmay, warmly, "unless devotion to thankless work, and forgetfulness of self is wrong; for that is all his worst enemy can lay to his charge."
"You are very warm about it," said the Master, with some surprise; "which does you credit, Mildmay. But, my dear fellow, what do you expect me--what do you expect the college to do? We can't provide for our poor members who let themselves drop out of sight and knowledge. Perhaps if you don't take the living, and Ruffhead does, you might speak to him to keep your friend on as curate. But I have nothing to do with that kind of arrangement. And I'm sure you will excuse me when I tell you we start to-night."
"Master," said Mildmay solemnly, "when you hear of a young colonel of thirty promoted over the head of an old captain of twice his age, what do you say?"
"Say, sir!" cried the Master, whose sentiments on this, as on most other subjects, were well known; "say! why I say it's a disgrace to the country. I say it's the abominable system of purchase which keeps our best soldiers languishing. Pray, what do you mean by that smile? You know I have no patience to discuss such a question; and I cannot see what it has to do with what we were talking of," he added abruptly, breaking off with a look of defiance, for he suddenly saw the mistake he had made in Mildmay's face.
"Hasn't it?" said the other. "If you will think a moment--Ruffhead and I are both as innocent of parochial knowledge as--as little Ned there." (Ned at this moment had come to the window which opened upon the garden, and, knocking with impatient knuckles, had summoned his father out.) "Mr. St. John has some thirty years' experience, and is thoroughly known and loved by the people. What can anybody think--what can any one say--if one of us miserable subalterns is put over that veteran's head? Where but in the Church could such a thing be done--without at least such a clamour as would set half England by the ears?"