“Mars. James Montgomery Mars.”
“Minerva tells me, James, that you are looking for work.”
“Yes, sir; for congenial work.”
“Would singing be congenial work?”
“Singing’s a pleasure, sir. It ain’t work.”
“I’ve been thinking,” said I, “that what this section needed was a concert for the benefit of something. Now, Mrs. Vernon likes to make other people happy, and while we were listening to you and Minerva sing, it struck us both that a concert of old plantation melodies like those you could sing, would be well received, say at the Congregational Church at Egerton. I would pay you a coachman’s wages for staying here and practising, but all the money taken in would go to—”
“The Hurlbert Hospital. That’s what they always do with the money up here, sir.”
“Oh, I see, like the Liverpool Sailors’ Home.”
He did not understand my allusion, but I did not explain. Allusions that are explained lose half their charm.
“What do you think of the idea?”