“Unquestionably not, Mr. Hitt!” said the minister, in horror.
“Thought not. On’y thet’s whut I heern one o’ your deacons say about me the other day. Didn’t know I heern him, but I did. I thought you wouldn’t allow no such talk as that. Go ahead!”
“I must ask you, Mr. Hitt,” Mr. Pursly said, perspiring at every pore, “to refrain from interruptions—or I—I really—can not continue.”
“All right,” returned Mr. Hitt, with perfect calmness. “Continner.”
Mr. Pursly continued to the bitter end, with no further interruption that called for remonstrance. There were soft inarticulate sounds that seemed to him to come from Brother Joash’s dark corner. But it might have been the birds in the Ampelopsis Veitchii that covered the house.
Brother Joash expressed no opinion, good or ill, of the address. He paid his ten dollars, in one-dollar bills, and took his receipt. But as the anxious minister followed him to the door, he turned suddenly and said:
“You was talkin’ ’bout a Perrish House?”
“Yes—“
“Kin ye keep a secret?”
“I hope so—yes, certainly, Mr. Hitt.”