A Little World Part 27

"Now don't be rash, Timson--don't be rash. I'm not angry; only, really, you know, it is so worrying, so aggravating--deuced aggravating, I should say, if I were a layman, Timson, I should indeed. There, there!

now don't bristle up, there's a good fellow; but tell me what to do."

"Take that umbrella ferule out of my ink, that's what you'd better do,"

said Timson, gruffly; for, in an absent fas.h.i.+on, the vicar was still thrusting at the metal stand, to the great endangering of an open book or two upon the table.

"There, there, there!" said the vicar, impatiently, as he placed the obnoxious ferule upon the floor, and pressed it down there with both hands. "Now, then, tell me, Timson, what had I better do?"

"How the devil should I know what you ought to do?" exclaimed Mr Timson, for he was out of temper that morning with business matters connected with a sudden rise in teas, just at a time when his stock was low, in consequence of his having antic.i.p.ated a fall, and the vicar, in his impatient mood, had applied the match which exploded Mr Timson's wrath, when, metaphorically taking off his ap.r.o.n, he spoke up.

"Don't swear, Timson," said the vicar, sternly; "'Swear not,'--you know the rest."

"Shoo--shoo--shoo--shoo--shoo--shoo--shoo!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr Timson. "Who did swear?"

"Why you did, sir," said the vicar; "and don't deny it."

"But I didn't," exclaimed the churchwarden; "and I won't be spoken to like that in my own house. Because we have been friends all these years, John Gray, you presume upon it, and abuse me. I didn't swear; I only said, 'How the devil should I know?' and I say it again. Shoo-- shoo--shoo! the devil's in the poor-box."

"If you make use of such language, Levi Timson, I must leave your office," said the vicar, severely.

"What language?--what language?" exclaimed the churchwarden.

"Why, such as yours, sir," retorted the vicar; "introducing the father of evil every moment."

"Not I!--not I!" exclaimed Timson. "Introduce him! Not I. Who brought him into the room? Who began it? Who said it first?"

"But only in a modified form," said the vicar, humbly; "I qualified it strongly with an 'if.' But I was wrong, extremely wrong, Timson; and there! I beg your pardon, Timson. I was put out and annoyed, and spoke hastily," and he held out his hand.

"No, sir; no, sir; you don't beg mine," said Timson, taking the vicar's hand. "I beg yours, sir. I know I spoke hastily, for I was angry and put out, for teas are gone up, confound 'em!"

"But I was in the wrong, Timson," said the vicar. "As a clergyman, I ought to have governed myself, and known better than to be hasty."

"I won't give up in my own premises, sir," exclaimed Timson. "Now, don't smile, sir; they're mine, bought and paid for, and there are the writings in that safe. I was in the wrong; but teas are up horribly this morning, and I'd been reckoning on their going down."

Peace was ratified at once, for the two old men shook hands very solemnly for quite a minute.

"I'd give something, though, to find out about that money," said the vicar, "for, you see, it's going again."

"I can a.s.sure you, sir," said the churchwarden, "that I've slept night after night with those poor-boxes in bed with me, and yet I can't see through the thing anyhow. By the way, I have read of such things. You don't happen to be a somnambulist, do you? You haven't been of a night and emptied the poor-boxes in your dreams, sc.r.a.ping together a store, and hidden it away for your heirs, administrators, executors, and a.s.signs to find out?" and as the old man spoke, he glanced round the room, as if seeking a likely spot for such a purpose.

"No, Timson, no," replied the vicar, smiling sadly. "You were present when my will was signed; and if there's anything more than is set down on that piece of parchment, I freely give it to you, old friend."

"Verbal gifts don't go down with executors, sir," said Timson, with his eyes twinkling; "and besides, I don't think it would be the thing for me to stick to a h.o.a.rd that you had filched from your own poor-box."

"There, there, there!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the vicar. "You are talking nonsense, Timson."

"Mr Gray, sir," said the churchwarden, seriously, and with some feeling, "a gla.s.s of sherry with you, sir; and, though toasts have nearly gone out, I shall drink to your long life.

"Yes," continued the churchwarden, after a busy little pause, "it is a good gla.s.s of sherry. It is one of my weak points to have a decent gla.s.s in the house, and I don't know anything that I like better."

"Except a gla.s.s of hot toddy," said the vicar, smiling.

"Well, well, well, sir," said Timson; "suppose we put that aside, or we shall be getting into cribbage and pipes, and all sorts of other weak points."

"True," said the vicar; "but really, Timson, I'm not ashamed of those little weaknesses, even if I am a clergyman. I'm a very humble old fellow, with few friends, and fewer relatives. I don't belong to society, Timson, but keep to my quiet, old-fas.h.i.+oned, country ways, which I brought up with me out of Lincolns.h.i.+re. I'm not a fas.h.i.+onable parson, Timson, but I try to do my best for those amongst whom I have to teach."

"You do, sir, you do," said the churchwarden, warmly; "and you make me disgusted with myself for being put out with your anxiety about this poor-box. Now let's set to and go over it all, quietly and methodically. What's to be done?"

"I don't know--I don't know," said the vicar, despondingly; "but we shall find him out to a certainty some day."

"Him!" exclaimed the churchwarden,--"him, sir?"

"Well, yes; him, or her, or it. I would not care if I could get just an inkling of who it could be. But I'm determined upon one thing, Timson, and that is, if there is much more of it, I will do away with the poor-boxes altogether, and preach an extra charity-sermon every quarter;" and the vicar tucked his umbrella beneath his arm, as if ready to go.

"But I say, sir," exclaimed Mr Timson, "I would not bear it in mind quite so much."

"What do you mean, Timson?" said the vicar.

"Texts, sir, texts!" said Mr Timson, drily.

"Well, Timson, I won't--I won't, really; though, between ourselves--as friends--as old friends you know--I don't mind telling you, that I had been making up the heads of a discourse for next Sunday upon the parable of the lost piece of money. But I'll take your advice, and try something else."

"Do!" said his friend, "and let the matter rest. Don't show that you notice it, sir; be quite quiet, and we shall put them off their guard; I've my suspicions yet!"

"No, you have not, Timson," said the vicar, laughing, "not you. You're not a suspicious man, and never were."

"Nor you neither," said the tea-dealer, shaking hands. "Good morning."

And as his old friend went through the busy portion of the house, raising his hat in reply to the salute of clerks and warehous.e.m.e.n, the churchwarden muttered to himself, "A thorough gentleman!"

An opinion from which some people differed.

Volume 2, Chapter VIII.

THE ST RUNWALD'S MYSTERY.

Gentlemanly or ungentlemanly, to blame in making a friend of the churchwarden, a tea-dealer, or not, the vicar was thoroughly conscientious, and this constant plundering of a little store intended for the poor of the parish was a sore and festering thorn in his side.

It may be questioned, though, whether the poor really were sufferers by the thefts. More probably they were gainers; for, ignorant of the amount pilfered, and feeling that to a certain extent the little fund was in his charge, the vicar would often drop a sovereign or two into the little heap when the boxes were emptied, in order to make up the deficiency, which might, perhaps, in fact, be not more than a few s.h.i.+llings.

But it was in vain that the good vicar fidgeted and fretted, rubbing his hair into all sorts of shapes, and especially that of a silver flame issuing from the top of his head. The pilfering went on, now ceasing for a while, now re-commencing, while the simple expedient of emptying the boxes after each service was never thought of by any one.

Mr Purkis grew warm, and perspired as he sand-papered the steel bindings, making the boxes glisten to an extent that would never have been reached, had there not existed the little jealousy between Mrs Ruggles and himself.

Not that Mr Purkis loved work, for his was the kind of const.i.tution that would bear a large amount of ease, and he always felt himself to flourish most when clothed in his robes of office, and basking in beauty's eye as he ornamented the church porch, striking with awe the boys from Gunniss's, his duties appearing to consist of an occasional wag of the head to the pew-opener, when some stranger required a sitting, and a majestic roll as far as the iron gates and back.

He would wag his head mysteriously at his wife when she was brus.h.i.+ng him down on a Sunday morning, and removing every speck of dust from his blue robe, to which she used a hard brush, while the broad scarlet velvet cape, with its deep gold-lace tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, was daintily smoothed and dusted with a brush of the softest. Then Mrs Purkis would hand her lord his c.o.c.ked hat and white Berlin gloves, gazing up in his face and looking him over with the greatest veneration. For some ladies are fond of seeing their lords and masters in uniform, and Mrs Purkis was one of these, and she would stand at the door to see her husband go down the street, exclaiming too, angrily, to herself, "Drat them boys!" when some evil-disposed irreverent young scamp would shout after the portly officer, "Beadle, beadle, threadle my needle;" though she consoled herself with the recollection that, "Boys allus was full of their sa.r.s.e," ready to laugh at any of our n.o.ble British inst.i.tutions.

Especially if relating to law and order, beginning with the majestic policeman, and ending with the Lord Chief Baron in his swaddling clothes.

But if Mr Purkis looked sagacious, it seemed probable that, like other people, he only had his suspicions; such too as he could not confirm, though a slight frown and a shake of the head, particularly if accompanied by nipped-together lips, imply a great deal; and your heavy-cheeked solid-headed judge will carry a weight with the public that his keen-witted and sharp-featured subordinate will lack.