“No, you haven’t had the right spirit to atone. You were fat with vanity and self-conceit. I’ve watched you.”
“In future I will—”
“Well, that rests with yourself, but your health is bad, and you’re not going to take the funeral tomorrow. You’ve had a sudden breakdown, and you’re going to get a call from some church in the East—as far East as Yokohama or Bagdad, I hope; and leave here in a few weeks. You understand? I’ve thought the thing out, and you’ve got to go. You’ll do no good to yourself or others here. Take my advice, and wherever you go, walk six miles a day at least, work in a garden, eat half as much as you do, and be good to your wife. It’s bad enough for any woman to be a parson’s wife, but to be a parson’s wife and your wife, too, wants a lot of fortitude.”
The heavy figure lurched to the upright, and steadied itself with a force which had not yet been apparent.
“I’ll do my best—so help me God!” he said and looked Ingolby squarely in the face for the first time.
“All right, see you keep your word,” Ingolby replied, and nodded good-bye.
The other went to the door, and laid a hand on the knob.
Suddenly Ingolby stopped him, and thrust a little bundle of bills into his hand. “There’s a hundred dollars for your wife. It’ll pay the expense of moving,” he said.
A look of wonder, revelation and gratitude crept into Tripple’s face. “I will keep my word, so help me God!” he said again.
“All right, good-bye,” responded Ingolby abruptly, and turned away.