Jack remained silent. He had to swallow his pride.
Then Mrs. Warne's face clouded. 'No,' said she, 'it will not do. They will want at the Castle a boy about Jack Spratt's build to get into his suit, and you are twice too stout; you'd explode the garments like the old cannon as they fired when Queen Caroline was let off. But I have another idea.' Again she thrust at him with her knitting-pin. 'You are a scholar. At Cullompton there has been a split among the Methodists, and they have set up a new connection. My sister, who is a groceress in a large way, has taken twenty shares in the new chapel. So far there have been no dividends. They have a tidy chapel, well warmed and lighted, but have not secured a satisfactory preacher. They have tried several, but they do not draw. One had a club foot. Another took snuff, and that the stricter people said savoured of the world. A third was husky in his voice and had no delivery. So they decided that none of these preached the unmixed Gospel, and the shareholders are in a pretty stew about their dividends. What do you say now to trying your powers there? I will recommend you to my sister, she carries weight, and will put you in――and draw you must and will.'
Then a tender light came into Mrs. Warne's eyes. 'Lord, Jack! for certain you will draw. You are young, good-looking, and unmarried, and if you are of an amorous disposition――――'
'I will never do,' sighed he, as the vision of the groceress in a large way who carried weight rose before his mind's eye.
'No,' said Mrs. Warne; 'but if you can't be of the fondling description, you can be denunciatory――but that requires beetle brows and pebbly eyes. Well, you know best. I can tell you of something else. You go across the way, up street to Thomas Gasset. He was in here the other night having a pipe and glass, and he was saying how he missed Winefred, and how he might have employed her to push his wares in the season――and now she is a grand lady. There is no saying, he may take you on as a traveller; and oh! to be a commercial!' Mrs. Warne held up her hands in ecstasy. 'Commercials is 'eavenly!'
So the lad went forth, leaving his half-pint half drunk on the table, to seek the shop of the lapidary.