“I don’t know as I am prepared to say what I can give, just at present, Mrs. Burke.”
“Well now let’s think about it a little. Last night’s Daily Bugle had your name in a list of those that gave ten dollars apiece at St. Bridget’s fair. I suppose the Irish trade’s valuable to a grocer like yourself; but you surely can’t do less for your own church? I’ll put you down for ten, though of course you can double it if you like.”
“No,” said Hiram, meditatively; “I guess ten’ll do.”
“Hiram Mason gives ten dollars. The Lord loveth a cheerful giver. Thanks, Hiram.”
Again there was a pause; and as no one volunteered, Hepsey continued:
“Sylvester Perkins, how much will you give?”
“I suppose I’ll give five dollars,” Sylvester responded, 296 before Mrs. Burke could have a chance to put him down for a larger sum. “But I don’t like this way of doin’ things a little bit. It’s not a woman’s place to hold up a man and rob him in public meetin’.”
“No, a woman usually goes through her husband’s pockets when he’s asleep, I suppose. But you see I’m not your wife. Thanks, Mr. Perkins: Mr. Perkins, five dollars,” she repeated as she entered his subscription in the book. “Next?” she called briskly.
“Mrs. Burke, I’ll give twenty dollars, if you think that’s enough,” called a voice from the back timidly.
Everyone turned to the speaker in some surprise. He was a delicate, slender fellow, evidently in bad health. He trembled nervously, and Mrs. Burke hesitated for an instant, between fear of hurting his feelings and letting him give more than she knew he could possibly afford.