You want balance, Leicester,
you want balance. It would be the making of you to have some serious
purpose in life. You will run against something of the kind soon--
you'll get engaged, perhaps, and then you'll regret your happy-go-
lucky ways." He fumbled amongst a pile of correspondence and drew out
a letter. "Now, look here, I was thinking of you only a few moments
ago. Here's a letter from a man who--who--where is it?--Ah, yes--If
you could raise 400 pounds by the time you are qualified I could put
you on to a splendid thing."
"Not the remotest chance," said George. "The serious purpose must
wait. I--"
The Dean waved a hand that asked silence; consulted the letter. "This
is from a man in practice at a place called Runnygate--one of these
rising seaside resorts--Hampshire--great friend of mine. He's got
money, and he's going to chuck it--doesn't suit his wife. I told him
I'd find a purchaser if he would leave it with me. Merely nominal--
only 400 pounds. He says that in a year or so there'll be a small
fortune in the practice, because a company is taking the place over to
develop it. You shall have first refusal. Come now, pull yourself
together, Leicester."
George laughed. He stood up. "Thanks, I refuse now. What on earth's
the good?"
"Rubbish," said the Dean.
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