The Pit Town Coronet Volume Ii Part 10

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," said Haggard meditatively. "My present fellow insists on smoking my cigars, and absolutely declines to wear my new boots. I hate wearing boots for the first time. I think I'll give the fellow a chance after all."

A week afterwards Maurice Capt was installed. To Lucy's intense astonishment, not one word did he breathe to her of his researches at the secluded village of Auray. But she felt that they understood one another. Gradually she came to the conclusion that she had bought the valet's silence at a very cheap price. He was glad to get back his good place, and that was probably all he wanted; he dropped no hint or innuendo of his discoveries, if he had made any, and he made no attempt at blackmailing.

Mademoiselle Fanchette was at first very attentive to the valet, and seemed to think less than ever of the "_homme_" in Algeria. But Mr.

Capt, though very courteous to Fanchette, did not respond to her advances; perhaps he was yet sorrowing for the dead Hephzibah. Still Fanchette secured a gossip to whom she could confide her numerous troubles, and Haggard felt that he had done wisely in having once more obtained the invaluable services of the faithful Swiss.

It has been stated that the King's Warreners were divided into two religious camps--the upper cla.s.ses and the labourers going to church, while the smaller tradespeople sat under the Reverend Boanerges Smiter, an eloquent young Baptist minister, who had wrestled in vain for thirty years of his life with cruel letter H. It was the dream of Mr. Smiter's life to empty the old-fas.h.i.+oned pews of the parish church. With this intention he worked hard; he preached, he lectured, he even at considerable trouble obtained a sort of reputation as a pulpit comedian, but he forgot that the seats of Gilgal Chapel were hard, while the old baize-lined pews at King's Warren Church were high and comfortable, and seemed to say to their occupants, "Here your slumbers will be undisturbed," also that the vicar never preached for more than twenty minutes. Rev. B. Smiter (for somehow or other the definite article is always left out before the t.i.tle of a dissenting minister) was an ingenious man. It was through his exertions that Gilgal stood proudly upon its own freehold, and that it possessed actual cash at the bank.

When Mr. Smiter first came to King's Warren the funds of Gilgal Chapel were in a very bad state indeed. The community was in debt for rent, the pastor lived in a little lodging in the village, his stipend was of the smallest, and the chapel was badly out of repair. But Rev. Boanerges Smiter was equal to the occasion. He was the original inventor of the Great Avalanche System. He got into his little pulpit one day, and he preached his great sermon on the text "Ask and ye shall have," and then he explained to his hearers the details of the Great Avalanche System.

He told them, what they well knew, that they were in King's Warren a comparatively small body of relatively poor people. "Many a time and oft," said he, "have my predecessors stood here, and urged you, my dear brothers and sisters, to give to the needs of this chapel. My predecessors have ever resembled the young ravens in their persistent cry, 'Give, Give;' and you, my dear brothers and sisters, have given, you've responded manfully, but what has been the result? Gilgal is as badly off as ever. We are but a small handful of Israelites in a great land of Egypt, and we are oppressed by Pharaoh; for Pharaoh, clad in purple and fine linen, takes t.i.thes of all we possess." (Did he refer to poor Jack Dodd as Pharaoh?) "But you will all remember that Moses ordered the children of Israel to spoil the Egyptians, and it will be our duty, nay our privilege, to do to these modern Egyptians as did our prototypes, the children of Israel, to Pharaoh and his subjects. What does Gilgal want? Gilgal wants to be out of debt. Gilgal wants a suitable residence for its pastor. Gilgal wants a new roof, and Gilgal would be all the better for a new organ. Now, my friends, did the Egyptians a.s.sist the unfortunate Israelites? Not a bit of it. Why they wouldn't even give them straw to make their bricks with. But though they wouldn't give them any straw, yet they yielded up to them after a time their jewels of silver and their jewels of gold, for we read that the Israelites spoiled the Egyptians. I am going to ask you for your charity, and I am going to head the subscription myself. Don't be cast down, my friends, at the single s.h.i.+lling which your pastor is about to subscribe. I trust that we shall obtain the roof, the freehold, the suitable residence for the pastor, nay, even the organ; for fifteen hundred pounds will do all this. Fifteen hundred pounds seems a large sum to you, my brethren, but it is easily to be obtained. And remark the pleasant fact that it will be obtained from the Egyptians. It is your charity I ask, but not your money, for the charity I require is simply vicarious. Let me go more into detail and make myself thoroughly understood. How is an avalanche first formed? A tiny ma.s.s of snow slips down from the top of some lofty mountain; that tiny ma.s.s is my original s.h.i.+lling. As the ma.s.s falls, it sets in motion other portions larger than itself. Gradually at first, and slowly, the little heap slides down the steep declivity. Its velocity increases, as does its volume--it at length becomes irresistible; enormously and indefinitely multiplied, it at last reaches the valley, no longer a tiny ma.s.s of snow, but a vast avalanche, which carries all before it, trees, rocks, and even villages being torn away by the irresistible force of the tremendous aggregation.

Such is the Great Avalanche System. I am 'A,' and I subscribe a s.h.i.+lling. I now call upon four of you to stand up, each in his place, and you four will each contribute but a humble s.h.i.+lling."

All the adults in the congregation of Gilgal stood up as one man.

"No, my friends," said the pastor, "I need but four, but four female friends. Four of my sisters will be my 'B's,' my busy bees; each 'B'

will select four 'C's,' from each of whom she will obtain a s.h.i.+lling.

She will register their names and addresses, and request them to do as she herself has done, and each four 'D's' to contribute a similar amount; and so on, my friends, through all the letters of the alphabet.

"The human heart is hard. There are many of us who would look twice at that s.h.i.+lling if we were asked for it as a simple contribution. But it is not a simple contribution, for it carries with it a privilege--it enables the person who has paid his or her s.h.i.+lling to exact a similar amount from four personal friends; and though the original giver has contributed but a single s.h.i.+lling, that giver has the pleasure of handing in an amount which is practically incalculable. I know the world, my brethren, and I know that as a rule the world is very glad indeed to get off for a s.h.i.+lling. Alas, many of the most active contributors to the numerous Missionary Societies of this country never put a single penny into the missionary boxes with which they are always glad to be provided; for the missionary box is an outward and visible sign of respectability, and a perpetual rod in pickle for friends, relatives, and rebellious children.

"Already, my friends, in my mind's eye I see Gilgal standing proudly upon its own freehold, I see it provided with the roof it so much needs, and mentally I already dwell in the comfortable residence allotted to its pastor. I even hear the sweet strains of the much-desired American organ. And all this is no dream; in a few short weeks, my friends, it will be a delightful reality. And what will be our chief incentive to the work? Why the fact that all this money has been obtained, not from the little congregation of Gilgal, but from the Egyptian, from haughty Pharaoh and his countless host."

Then he gave out the hymn.

Rev. Boanerges Smiter was right. The thing came off. The money poured in, and the Reverend Smiter's original s.h.i.+lling was turned, as by the touch of the enchanter's wand, into fifteen hundred pounds. Thirty thousand victims had been indirectly teased and pestered by Smiter, at the least possible amount of trouble to himself; but all had had their revenge, save the last batch, in finding four other s.h.i.+lling victims, and each of them had obtained for a ridiculously small sum a character for active benevolence. Who is there in this wicked world who would not consider a character for active benevolence cheap at a s.h.i.+lling?

It was indirectly due to Rev. B. Smiter that the vicar received the cruel snubbing which was a joke against him in King's Warren for the rest of his natural life. The congregation of Gilgal held open-air meetings upon the village green at the end of summer as a sort of counter demonstration to the harvest festivals of the church. There was no Salvation Army in those days, and in a little place like King's Warren even such a mild excitement as an open-air meeting is very welcome. Besides the real congregation on the village green there was always a considerable gallery of curious onlookers, "scoffers," as they were termed by the "elect." Rev. B. Smiter had been very successful at these meetings. They really did a certain amount of good, for some who had come to laugh remained to pray. In the particular summer to which I am referring Mr. Smiter had gone to the expense of engaging what in theatrical circles would be termed a popular favourite. This was the well-known 'Appy 'Arry.

'Appy 'Arry was a character in his way. He had been a noted pugilist; he had even fought for the champions.h.i.+p, and he took the punishment he received on that memorable occasion in a very plucky manner. If 'Arry had won the fight he would doubtless have subsided into the pugilist's well-merited haven of rest--a sporting public house. But the fates willed it otherwise, and 'Arry was converted and took to religion. The man was perfectly sincere, and many a rough fellow owed his conversion from drink and debauchery to 'Appy 'Arry. His was a rude kind of eloquence that went straight to the hearts of the majority of his male hearers. He would retail his exciting experiences as a pugilist and a drunkard with much gusto. He would tell in minute detail the history of his great but unsuccessful struggle for the champion's belt; and as he dilated on the wicked glories of his former life he would say with a pleasant smile, "And was I 'appy, my brothers? No, I was not 'appy, for I hadn't got religion."

Haggard and the vicar were looking on at one of the revival meetings, and 'Appy 'Arry was holding forth with his accustomed fervour.

"I've given it all up now. I don't a.s.sociate with the swells now. Many's the time, my brethren, as I've had on the gloves with dooks and baronites, and other sporting swells," and here his eye fell upon the amused countenance of the Reverend John Dodd. "Ay, and with fighting parsons, too," he said.

The Reverend Jack blushed.

"But I looks on 'em now as men of sin; they used to be proud to shake 'ands with 'Arry in his bad days, but I've shook 'em off, my brothers, and I don't foregather now with the likes of them. Don't you think it's no yarns I'm telling you, my friends; why, there's one of 'em now, a-looking on. Oh, how I wish that fighting parson was as 'appy as I am now; and if he'd only listen to me in a proper spirit he might be; but he won't, my brethren, and why won't he? Because 'is 'art is 'ard.

Many's the merry round I've 'ad with the gloves with 'Andsome Jack Dodd, as is a-standing there. Why, he was one of my backers when I fought the butcher on Moulsey Hurst, and licked him, too, for the matter of that!

'Andsome Jack Dodd was proud to shake 'ands with 'Arry in those days.

But will 'Appy 'Arry shake hands with him now? No, my brethren. And for why? Becos he ain't got religion."

And then the preacher sat down, and Haggard and the Rev. John Dodd beat a hasty retreat. Haggard told the story to Mrs. Dodd that very evening.

It was a rather mean thing to do, but Haggard was a man of impulse.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE VICAR TRIES PUFFIN.

It must not be supposed that all the religious activity in King's Warren was confined to the Dissenters. The Reverend John Dodd was a fine old-crusted Tory; the world had gone very well with him. He had his cross, of course, in the shape of his wife Cecilia, and the Reverend B.

Smiter was a very thorn in his flesh; but his living was a good living, and his peaches and his port wine were unsurpa.s.sed in the county. His archdeacon was an old personal friend of his own, and I am afraid that the post-prandial conversations of the two when the archdeacon made his yearly visitations and Mrs. Dodd had left them to themselves, turned more upon vintages and things of this world than on church matters. But a young and active bishop, of High Church tendencies, now reigned in the neighbouring cathedral, and the archdeacon in a friendly manner suggested to Dodd that it behoved him to set his house in order.

"We must move with the times, Dodd," he said. "The bishop is a man of six-and-thirty and an enthusiast. I am sorry to say he is no respecter of persons. There is no doubt, my friend, that dissent has spread in this parish of late years with frightful rapidity." He spoke of it as if it were a disease. "What you want is an energetic coadjutor, and you can't do better than try Puffin. Puffin has been a Missioner, and he is a wonderful organizer. If you want to be in the bishop's good books you should try Puffin. He'll take every sort of trouble off your hands; all you have to do is to give him plenty of rope. He has his peculiarities, but he is honest in his way, and he did wonders at the East End, where he nearly killed himself by overwork. You won't keep him long, you know, for Puffin's a man certain of good preferment. He'll fill your church, and if anything will stop the insidious progress of dissent in the place, it's Puffin."

"But, my dear fellow, we are very comfortable as we are. I hate a clerical firebrand. Why can't we rub along comfortably for the rest of my time?"

"The days of rubbing along, Dodd, are gone by. As the bishop puts it, the Church in these latter days must be a Church militant, or it will cease to exist."

"But it needn't become a Church pugnacious for all that," said Dodd.

"My dear fellow, if we were certain that I should be archdeacon for ever you might, as you put it, go on rubbing along. But the king who knew not Joseph has arrived. Our spiritual head is a man who will stand no nonsense. If you don't follow his lead, he will look upon you as refractory. Don't be refractory, Dodd; try Puffin. You will find him a perfect panacea."

"But I don't believe in panaceas," said Dodd; "the fellow will set the whole place by the ears before he has been here a month. Why, in this village the aggrieved paris.h.i.+oner does not even exist. If a man doesn't like the church he takes sittings in the chapel, and there is an end of the thing."

"My dear fellow, you mistake the matter altogether. Now-a-days, a real, good, wrong-headed aggrieved paris.h.i.+oner is exactly what you do want. He keeps you before the public, and brings you to the favourable notice of your spiritual head."

"But look at the fuss, the letters, and the lawsuits."

"With a new bishop, Dodd, and a man like Puffin at your back, though there would be lots of fuss, it need not trouble you. Puffin would write all the letters; and as for the lawsuits, you would win them, and the costs would not come out of your pocket. Puffin, of course, sails rather close to the wind, if I may be allowed the expression, but he knows exactly how far he can go. In fact, Dodd, though he puts his candles upon the altar he never lights them, except at evensong, and then he knows he can do so with impunity."

And then they gradually began to talk about the wine.

The result of this conversation was that the Reverend John Dodd hastened to secure the services of that energetic priest the Reverend Barnes Puffin.

Mr. Puffin arrived at the Vicarage looking very much like an ordinary clergyman, save that the round black felt that he wore had a brim of portentous width; and Mrs. Dodd noticed with some astonishment that the white tie, which all clergymen of her acquaintance habitually wore, was conspicuous by its absence, and that the new curate appeared to have put on his collar wrong side before. At first it was a mystery to her how he could have got into that collar. There was certainly no visible means of entrance in front. Puffin wore his hair very long indeed, while the whole of his face was clean shaven. Mrs. Dodd, too, gave a start when he proceeded to address her as "his dear sister;" but she was still more astonished when he removed his long clerical great-coat and she saw that the Reverend Barnes Puffin was clad in a long black garment with innumerable little b.u.t.tons running from his neck to within two inches of the ground. Around his waist was a long black sash with a silken fringe.

As he gave the vicar's wife his arm, when they went in to dinner, he suddenly produced from his pocket a little square cap, which he placed upon his head. He did full justice to the stewed eels, with which the meal commenced; but he never removed the little cap during the whole of the entertainment, nor could the vicar and his wife persuade him to partake of any of the numerous dainties which composed the rest of the feast. At first he said he wasn't hungry. A curate who refused _entrees_ was a novelty to Mrs. Dodd.

"I fear you are not well, Mr. Puffin," she said as he declined woodc.o.c.k on toast.

"Dear Mrs. Dodd, I remember that it is the Eve of St. Radegonde, Virgin and Martyr."

The vicar and his wife looked at one another; but they respected Mr.

Puffin's prejudices, and ceased to press him.

The next day the reign of the Reverend Barnes Puffin commenced. The old church, where service had been held as seldom as possible from time immemorial, was now thrown open daily for matins and evensong. At first there was no congregation; but the Reverend Barnes Puffin looked up all the old pensioners, particularly the old women who were in receipt of parish relief at home, and in his persuasive but forcible way he made all these poor old people understand that their comforts, for which they had hitherto given nothing in return, would depend upon good behaviour, that is to say, going to church. Nor did Mr. Puffin confine his ministrations to the lower orders. How he managed it I don't know; but before he had been three months in the place most of the younger ladies in the parish flocked to the services. I suppose he made love to them in a quiet, clerical sort of way. The Misses Sleek, looking as plump and pretty as ever, but dressed with a prim demureness which considerably astonished their father, were among his first converts; and they used to hurry to church on foot twice a day with praiseworthy regularity. They considered themselves well rewarded if the curate walked home with them occasionally to dinner, and so beatified The Park by his presence. But Mr. Puffin egregiously failed with Miss Grains.

She, too, had felt inclined at first to place her conscience in Mr.

Puffin's hands; but young Mr. Wurzel, an easy-going fellow enough at most times, objected to Puffin's addressing his affianced bride, save from the pulpit, as "his dear sister." He had even told Miss Grains that he looked upon Mr. Puffin as a "philanderer," and that "he didn't hold with philanderers." So Miss Grains made no alteration in her costume, and she turned a deaf ear to Mr. Puffin's ecclesiastical authority.

It was not long before King's Warren Church rejoiced in a surpliced choir. There was rather a martial clang of hob-nailed boots during the numerous processions of the choir on Sundays; but the service was undoubtedly much more imposing than in the old days. Mr. Puffin did wonders with the small material at his command. He would have made an admirable stage-manager. He never missed a possible effect, and he considerably astonished the King's Warreners when he preached his first funeral sermon. He was a good preacher, and always held the attention of the congregation. But perhaps some few of them smiled when he led up to the fact that the silver cord was loosed and the golden bowl broken, in an ornate and sensational harangue reaching an unexpected climax by tilting over the tumbler at his side, which fell with a crash and was s.h.i.+vered in a thousand pieces on the floor. There were no sleepers in King's Warren Church when the Reverend Barnes Puffin graced the pulpit after that. And yet Puffin was a sincere man, and worked energetically according to his lights.

But it was an evil day for the Reverend Barnes Puffin when he felt it to be his duty to attempt the conversion of Lucy Warrender. She was the one black sheep of the fold, for she had committed the unpardonable sin--she had laughed at Mr. Puffin. A girl may differ with a modern parson, she may argue with him; nay, she may refuse to argue with him at all, but she must not laugh at him, and Lucy had done this. Had she not irreverently compared him to Samson, and wickedly declared that she would like to be a Delilah to shear with her own hands his too redundant locks? Had she not told him that it was rude to wear the little square hat, which he persisted in calling a _baretta_, in the presence of ladies? Had she not openly a.s.serted her belief that he wore a hair s.h.i.+rt and scourged himself in private? These are only a few of the many crimes of which Miss Warrender had been guilty. It was evidently the duty of the Reverend Barnes Puffin to convert Miss Warrender without loss of time.

Puffin was always well received at The Warren; he amused the squire by the seriousness of his arguments about trifling things. For every thing that he did, for every little bob, bow or gesture, the Reverend Barnes Puffin had a very good reason. Nothing that he did was trifling; it was always symbolical of something. According to him, for every movement of his body there was a ritual reason why. It became a sort of custom at The Warren that as soon as dessert was upon the table, the Reverend Barnes Puffin was allowed to mount his hobby-horse and wildly career. He liked to give what he called a little information on sacred things, and he made the most of his opportunities, for he never had a long innings, as he always retired with the ladies.

One evening the Reverend Barnes Puffin was seated in the drawing-room at The Warren conversing with the cousins. Fanchette, in all the pride of her Norman costume, was bringing the little Lucius to bid his mother good-night. Now Fanchette, from his ca.s.sock, his sash, his _baretta_, and the collar which had so puzzled poor Mrs. Dodd, had always looked upon the Reverend Barnes Puffin as a veritable Catholic priest, and respected him accordingly. She made him a succession of low courtesies, and placing the little Lucius in his mother's arms, she advanced towards the curate in a respectful manner. To his intense astonishment she suddenly dropped on her knees at his side, seized his hand, and covered it with kisses. Then, in fluent patois, she demanded his blessing. But the curate, unfortunately, did not understand a word she said. Like most curates, he was accustomed to the blandishments which are invariably lavished by the female s.e.x on these most fortunate of men. Interesting penitents had made eyes at him, had squeezed his hand at parting with unnecessary pressure, had loaded him with slippers, vestments, and socks and comforters knitted by their own fair fingers. They had even obtained interviews, and had wickedly taken the opportunity of the _tete-a-tete_ to make violent love to him; but never, in the whole course of his clerical experience, had any of his "dear sisters" suddenly dropped on their knees at his side and violently kissed his hand. Puffin was by no means a vain man. But what could he think? Here was a foreign woman, of prepossessing appearance, administering sounding osculations to his unwilling fingers.

"Ladies, dear ladies," he said, as he rose to his feet, the _bonne_ still clinging to his hand and kissing it furiously, "this is most irregular." Here he strove with gentle dignity to try to withdraw his hand, but all to no purpose. "Ladies," he said, blus.h.i.+ng violently, and speaking of Fanchette as if she had been an infuriated bull-terrier, "call her off. Please call her off."