"Never," declared the curate's wife, scandalized.
"Yes, ye would!" pursued Hiram. "And before night ye'd be eatin' the finest cocoanut pie ye ever tasted, for——" he paused and then added with his most impressive drawl: "Take it from me, ladies, there ain't no pie in the world like a self-made pie."
This statement was received in silence, in thin-lipped, despairing silence. Slowly but surely the relatives were beginning to get dear Cousin Hiram's idea.
"Ahem! Mr. Baxter!" coughed Horatio, rising again. "In the name of the relatives gathered here, allow me to thank you for the beautiful—shall I say touching—parable of the cocoanut pie. I think, however, that I voice the desire of the relatives gathered here in asking you to make your ideas a little clearer in their—shall I say in their immediate application?"
"All right, Brother Horatio," smiled Hiram, as the curate resumed his seat. "I'll come down to cases. We're members o' the same family and we've got to stand together."
"Ah!" approved Harriet.
"Just now it happens that I need your help. I've got big resources, but I'm in a hard campaign. I've got my back to the wall fighting for my life and—well, we'll come through all right and you'll benefit with me, but for a while we've got to cut down on expenses and—er—you people'll have to—er——"
The bolt was about to fall, the words were on Hiram's lips: "You people'll have to do some work," but as he looked into the faces before him, pathetic, incredulous, the old fellow weakened. "You people'll have to—er—give this thing your—er—serious consideration," he substituted.
But the countess understood, and, with a little laugh and a shrug of her shapely shoulders, she came straight to the point. "You mean we'll have to—have to—work?"
Hiram nodded slowly.