“Well, no, of course not,” laughed the churchwarden. “But still—well, suppose we say a guinea for the evening service?”
“That’s my charge for the service, leaving out the sermon,” said the clergyman.
He explained that it was the cheapest thing in the market at the time. It was done with only the smallest margin of profit. Allowing for the wear and tear, it left hardly anything for himself.
The churchwarden shook his head. He feared that they would not be able to trade on the terms, he said. Suddenly, however, he brightened up. Could the reverend gentleman not give them a good, sound, second quality sermon? he inquired. They did not expect an A-1, copper-fastened, platinum-tipped, bevelled-edged, full-calf sermon for the money; but hadn’t the reverend gentleman a sound, clump-soled, celluloid-faced, nickel-plated sermon—something evangelical that would do very well for one evening?
The clergyman replied that he had nothing of the sort in stock.
“Well, at any rate, you will say a few words to the congregation—not a sermon, you know—after the service, for the guinea?” suggested the churchwarden.
“Oh, yes, I’ll say a few words, if that’s all,” said the clergyman.
And he did.
When he had got to that grand old Amen which closes the Evening Service, he stood up and said,—
“Dear brethren, there will be no sermon preached here this evening.”