Der Praefekt

quaint to see how the two mild old priests pressed each other’s
    hand, and smiled and made little signs of love.
     
    “Sir Abraham’s opinion has come at last,” began the archdeacon. Herr
    Harding had heard so much, and was most anxious to know the result.
     
    “It is quite favourable,” said the bishop, pressing his friend’s arm.
    “I am so glad.”
     
    Mr Harding looked at the mighty bearer of the important news for
    confirmation of these glad tidings.
     
    “Yes,” said the archdeacon; “Sir Abraham has given most minute
    attention to the case; indeed, I knew he would;—most minute
    attention; and his opinion is,—and as to his opinion on such a
    subject being correct, no one who knows Sir Abraham’s character can
    doubt,—his opinion is, that they hav’n’t got a leg to stand on.”
     
    “But as how, archdeacon?”
     
    “Why, in the first place:—but you’re no lawyer, warden, and I doubt
    you won’t understand it; the gist of the matter is this:—under
    Hiram’s will two paid guardians have been selected for the hospital;
    the law will say two paid servants, and you and I won’t quarrel with
    the name.”
     
    “At any rate I will not if I am one of the servants,” said Mr Harding.
    “A rose, you know—”
     
    “Yes, yes,” said the archdeacon, impatient of poetry at such a time.
    “Well, two paid servants, we’ll say; one to look after the men, and
    the other to look after the money.  You and Chadwick are these two
    servants, and whether either of you be paid too much, or too little,
    more or less in fact than the founder willed, it’s as clear as
    daylight that no one can fall foul of either of you for receiving an
    allotted stipend.”
     
    “That does seem clear,” said the bishop, who had winced visibly at the
    words servants and stipend, which, however, appeared to have caused no
    uneasiness to the archdeacon.
     
    “Quite clear,” said he, “and very satisfactory.  In point of fact, it
    being necessary to select such servants for the use of the hospital,
    the pay to be given to them must depend on the rate of pay for such
    services, according to their market value at the period in question;
    and those who manage the hospital must be the only judges of this.”
     
    “And who does manage the hospital?” asked the warden.  “Oh, let them
    find that out; that’s another question: the action is brought against
    you and Chadwick; that’s your defence, and a perfect and full defence
    es ist. Now that I think very satisfactory.”
     
    “Well,” said the bishop, looking inquiringly up into his friend’s
    face, who sat silent awhile, and apparently not so well satisfied.
     
    “And conclusive,” continued the archdeacon; “if they press it to a
    jury, which they won’t do, no twelve men in England will take five
    minutes to decide against them.”
     
    “But according to that” said Mr Harding, “I might as well have sixteen
    hundred a year as eight, if the managers choose to allot it to me; and
    as I am one of the managers, if not the chief manager, myself, that
    can hardly be a just arrangement.”
     
    “Oh, well; all that’s nothing to the question.  The question is,
    whether this intruding fellow, and a lot of cheating attorneys and
    pestilent dissenters, are to interfere with an arrangement which
    everyone knows is essentially just and serviceable to the church.
    Pray don’t let us be splitting hairs, and that amongst ourselves, or
    there’ll never be an end of the cause or the cost.”
     
    Mr Harding again sat silent for a while, during which the bishop once
    and again pressed his arm, and looked in his face to see if he could
    catch a gleam of a contented and eased mind; but there was no such
    gleam, and the poor warden continued playing sad dirges on invisible
    stringed instruments in all manner of positions; he was ruminating in
    his mind on this opinion of Sir Abraham, looking to it wearily and
    earnestly for satisfaction, but finding none.  At last he said, “Did
    you see the opinion, archdeacon?”
     
    The archdeacon said he had not,—that was to say, he had,—that was,
    he had not seen the opinion itself; he had seen what had been called a
    copy, but he could not say whether of a whole or part; nor could he
    say that what he had seen were the _ipsissima verba_ of the great man
    himself; but what he had seen contained exactly the decision which he
    had announced, and which he again declared to be to his mind