He was brooding now. Why, he was asking himself morosely, should
he be harassed by this Bertie? It was not as if Bertie was penniless.
He had a little income of his own. No, it was pure lack of
consideration. Who was Bertie that he--
At this point in his meditations Violet entered with the after-dinner
coffee and the evening post.
Mr Blatherwick took the letters. There were two of them, and one he
saw, with a rush of indignation, was in the handwriting of his
brother-in-law. Mr Blatherwick's blood simmered. So the fellow thought
he could borrow by post, did he? Not even trouble to pay a visit, eh?
He tore the letter open, and the first thing he saw was a cheque for
five pounds.
Mr Blatherwick was astounded. That a letter from his brother-in-law
should not contain a request for money was surprising; that it should
contain a cheque, even for five pounds, was miraculous.
He opened the second letter. It was short, but full of the finest,
noblest sentiments; to wit, that the writer, Charles J. Pickersgill,
having heard the school so highly spoken of by his friend, Mr Herbert
Baxter, would be glad if Mr Blatherwick could take in his three sons,
aged seven, nine, and eleven respectively, at the earliest convenient
date.
Mr Blatherwick's first feeling was one of remorse that even in thought
he should have been harsh to the golden-hearted Bertie.
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