“A 'Breeches' Bible?” he cried. “Oh, a 'Breeches' Bible is the one that was carried by Cromwell's troopers in their pockets; it was made specially for carrying about—small, you know, and compact. I remember reading that several of the soldiers had their lives saved owing to the bullets having lodged in the volume in their breeches pocket.”
“Not really?” said the lady. “How very interesting! I do believe that I heard something like that having happened, I forget where.”
I wondered if the Reverend Mr. Tomlinson was not, after all, something of a humourist—if he was not engaged in that delicate dynamic operation known as “pulling her leg.” I had good reason to know some time afterwards, however, that there was no foundation for my suspicion in this direction. He spoke what he imagined must be true, and he was too lazy to verify his own conclusions.
When the lady asked him—
“And what might be the real value of one of those Bibles?” he replied—
“Anything from a thousand pounds up. I believe that one was bought by an American a short time ago for over four thousand pounds.”
“What! Not really? A thousand pounds?” she cried. “Will you kindly give me his address? I must write to him for a subscription for our new bells.”
“For goodness' sake don't tell him that you heard of his good luck from me,” cried Mr. Tomlinson.