“As if they’d b’en used to ’em at home,” put in Mr. Winch, to help his colleague out.

The lawyer ostentatiously drew up his chair to the desk, and began turning over the leaves of his biggest book.  “It’s getting on toward noon, gentlemen,” he said, in an impatient voice.

The business meeting which followed was for a considerable time confined to hearing extracts from the books and papers read in a swift and formal fashion by Mr. Gorringe.  If this was intended to inform the new pastor of the exact financial situation in Octavius, it lamentably failed of its purpose.  Theron had little knowledge of figures; and though he tried hard to listen, and to assume an air of comprehension, he did not understand much of what he heard.  In a general way he gathered that the church property was put down at $12,000, on which there was a debt of $4,800.  The annual expenses were $2,250, of which the principal items were $800 for his salary, $170 for the rent of the parsonage, and $319 for interest on the debt.  It seemed that last year the receipts had fallen just under $2,000, and they now confronted the necessity of making good this deficit during the coming year, as well as increasing the regular revenues.  Without much discussion, it was agreed that they should endeavor to secure the services of a celebrated “debt-raiser,” early in the autumn, and utilize him in the closing days of a revival.

Theron knew this “debt-raiser,” and had seen him at work—­a burly, bustling, vulgar man who took possession of the pulpit as if it were an auctioneer’s block, and pursued the task of exciting liberality in the bosoms of the congregation by alternating prayer, anecdote, song, and cheap buffoonery in a manner truly sickening.  Would it not be preferable, he feebly suggested, to raise the money by a festival, or fair, or some other form of entertainment which the ladies could manage?

Brother Pierce shook his head with contemptuous emphasis.  “Our women-folks ain’t that kind,” he said.  “They did try to hold a sociable once, but nobody came, and we didn’t raise more ’n three or four dollars.  It ain’t their line.  They lack the worldly arts.  As the Discipline commands, they avoid the evil of putting on gold and costly apparel, and taking such diversions as cannot be used in the name of the Lord Jesus.”

“Well—­of course—­if you prefer the ’debt-raiser’—­” Theron began, and took the itemized account from Gorringe’s knee as an excuse for not finishing the hateful sentence.

He looked down the foolscap sheet, line by line, with no special sense of what it signified, until his eye caught upon this little section of the report, bracketed by itself in the Secretary’s neat hand: 

     Interest charge.

First mortgage (1873) .. $1,000 ... (E.  Winch) @7.. $ 70 Second mortgage (1776).. 1,700 ... (L.  Gorringe) @6.. 102 Third mortgage (1878)... 2,100 ... (L.  Pierce) @7.. 147 ------- ----- $4,800 $319

It was no news to him that the three mortgages on the church property were held by the three trustees.  But as he looked once more, another feature of the thing struck him as curious.