Here and there he paused, and was affable with a county elector, but when he reached the lich-gate he was altogether friendly with Fuller and Sennacherib, and shook hands with Isaiah with actual warmth.
“Mr. Hales was dining at the Hall last night,” he said. “He told us that some of the local people were in favor of an organ for the church, and had talked about getting up a subscription, but he wouldn't listen to the idea.”
“Should think not,” said Sennacherib. “Parson knows when he's well off.”
“Indeed he does,” returned Ferdinand; “he looks on the band as being quite a part of the church, and says that he would hardly know the place without it.”
“A horgin!” grunted Sennacherib, scornfully. “An' when they'd got it, theer's some on 'em as 'ud niver be content till they'd got a monkey in a scarlit coat to sit atop on it.”
“I hardly think they want that kind of organ, Mr. Eld,” said Ferdinand, smoothly.
“I do' know why they shouldn't,” returned Sennacherib. “It's nothin' but their Christian humbleness as could mek 'em want it at all. The Lord's made 'em a bit better off than their neighbors, an' they feel it undeserved. It's castin' pearls afore swine to play for half on 'em about here.”
Fuller, with both hands posed on the baize-clad head of the 'cello, which the small boy had surrendered to him some moments before, shook his fat ribs at this so heartily that Sennacherib himself re laxed into a surly grin, and then Ferdinand felt him self at liberty to laugh also.
“You are rather severe upon your audience, Mr. Eld,” he said.
“A tongue like a file, our Sennacherib's got,” said the mild Isaiah. “Touches nothin' but what he rasps clean through it.”