“INA KLOSKING.”
Arrived in a very few minutes Mr. Ashamed, jaunty, cheerful, and defensive.
Ina, with a countenance from which all discontent was artfully extracted, laid before him, in the friendliest way you can imagine, an English Bible. It was her father's, and she always carried it with her. “I wish,” said she, insidiously, “to consult you on a passage or two of this book. How do you understand this:
“'When thou doest thine alms, do not send a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do.'
“And this:
“'When thou doest thine alms, let not thy right hand know what thy left hand doeth, that thine alms may be in secret; and thy Father, which seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly.'”
Having pointed out these sentences with her finger, she looked to him for his interpretation. Joseph, thus erected into a Scripture commentator, looked at the passages first near, and then afar off, as if the true interpretation depended on perspective. Having thus gained a little time, he said, “Well, I think the meaning is clear enough. We are to hide our own light under a bushel. But it don't say an agent is to hide his employer's.'
“Be serious, sir. This is a great authority.”
“Oh, of course, of course. Still—if you won't be offended, ma'am—times are changed since then. It was a very small place, where news spread of itself; and all that cannot be written for theatrical agents, because there wasn't one in creation.”
“And so now their little customs, lately invented, like themselves, are to prevail against God's im-mor-tal law!” It was something half way between Handel and mellowed thunder the way her grand contralto suddenly rolled out these three words. Joseph was cunning. He put on a crushed appearance, deceived by which the firm but gentle Klosking began to soften her tone directly.
“It has given me pain,” said she, sorrowfully. “And I am afraid God will be angry with us both for our ostentation.”
“Not He,” said Joseph, consolingly. “Bless your heart, He is not half so irritable as the parsons fancy; they confound Him with themselves.”
Ina ignored this suggestion with perfect dignity and flowed on: “All I stipulate now is that I may not see this pitiable parade in print.”
“That is past praying for, then,” said Ashmead, resolutely. “You might as well try to stop the waves as check publicity—in our day. Your munificence to the poor—confound the lazy lot!—and the gratitude of those pompous prigs, the deputation—the presentation—your admirable reply—”
“You never heard it, now—”
“Which, as you say, I was not so fortunate as to hear, and so must content myself with describing it—all this is flying north, south, east, and west.”
“Oh no, no, no! You have not advertised it?”
“Not advertised it! For what do you take me? Wait till you see the bill I am running up against you. Madam, you must take people as they are. Don't try to un-Ashmead me; it is impossible. Catch up that knife and kill me. I'll not resist; on the contrary, I'll sit down and prepare an obituary notice for the weeklies, and say I did it. BUT WHILE I BREATHE I ADVERTISE.”
And Joseph was defiant; and the Klosking shrugged her noble shoulders, and said, “You best of creatures, you are incurable.”
To follow this incident to its conclusion, not a week after this scene, Ina Klosking detected, in an English paper,