Well, auntie, who's the ninth subscriber?"
"Ah, that's the point," said Enoch Lovatt. "The ninth isn't
forthcoming."
Mrs Lovatt looked straight at her sister's husband. "We want you to be
the ninth," she said.
"Me!" He laughed heartily, perceiving a broad humour in the suggestion.
"Oh, but I mean it," Mrs Lovatt insisted earnestly. "Your name was
mentioned at the trustees' meeting, wasn't it, Enoch?"
"Yes," said Lovatt, "it was."
"And dost mean to say as they thought as I 'ud give 'em a hundred pound
towards th' new organ?" said Peake, dropping into dialect.
"Why not?" returned Mrs Lovatt, her spirit roused. "I shall. Enoch will.
Why not you?"
"Oh, you're different. You're _in_ it."
"You can't deny that you're one of the richest pew-holders in the
chapel. What's a hundred pound to you? Nothing, is it, Mr Sneyd? When Mr
Copinger, our superintendent minister, mentioned it to me yesterday, I
told him I was sure you would consent."
"You did?"
"I did," she said boldly.
"Well, I shanna'."
Like many warm-hearted, impulsive and generous men, James Peake did not
care that his generosity should be too positively assumed.
Pages:
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449