"Glad to see you, Mr Blackhurst," he began, a little awkwardly.
"You know, I suppose, what I've come for, Mr Peake," said the old man,
in that rich, deep, oily voice of which Mrs Lovatt, in one of those
graphic phrases that came to her sometimes, had once remarked that it
must have been "well basted in the cooking."
"I suppose I do," Peake answered diffidently.
Mr Blackhurst took off a wrinkled black glove, stroked his grey beard,
and started on a long account of the inception and progress of the organ
scheme. Peake listened and was drawn into an admission that it was a
good scheme and deserved to succeed. Mr Blackhurst then went on to make
plain that it was in danger of utterly collapsing, that only one man of
"our Methodist friends" could save it, and that both Mrs Sutton and Mrs
Lovatt had advised him to come and make a personal appeal to that man.
Peake knew of old, and in other affairs, the wily diplomatic skill of
this Sunday School superintendent, and when Mr Blackhurst paused he
collected himself for an effort which should conclude the episode at a
stroke.
"The fact is," he said, "I've decided that I can't help you.
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