Now, would you believe, seven out of those eight subscriptions
were promised by Wednesday morning! I think that was just splendid!"
"Well, well!" exclaimed Peake, genuinely amazed at this proof of
religious vitality. "Who are the subscribers?"
"I'm one," said Enoch Lovatt, quietly, but with unconcealed pride.
"And I'm another," said Mrs Lovatt. "Bless you, I should have been
ashamed of myself if I hadn't responded to such an appeal. You may say
what you like about Titus Blackhurst--I know there's a good many that
don't like him--but he's a real good sort. I'm sure he's the best Sunday
School superintendent we ever had. Then there's Mr Clayton-Vernon, and
Alderman Sutton, and young Henry Mynors and--"
"And Eardley Brothers--they're giving a hundred apiece," put in Lovatt,
glancing at Randolph Sneyd.
"I wish they'd pay their debts first," said Peake, with sudden
savageness.
"They're all right, I suppose?" said Sneyd, interested, and leaning over
towards Peake.
"Oh, they're all _right_," Peake said testily. "At least, I hope so,"
and he gave a short, grim laugh. "But they're uncommon slow payers. I
sent 'em in an account for coal only last week--three hundred and fifty
pound.
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