Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gash trotted off to fetch a small table from the corner of the room. This was placed in front of Lady Knob-Kerrick, and on it John deposited the illuminated address, the bag containing the notes, and the silver-mounted hot-water bottle.
A hush of expectancy fell upon the assembly. Lady Knob-Kerrick rose and was greeted by respectful applause. Her manner was that of a peacock deigning to acknowledge the existence of a group of sparrows. From a dorothy-bag she drew a typewritten paper, which she proceeded to read.
"I have been asked to present to the Rev. James Sopley, as a mark of the esteem in which he is held by his flock, an illuminated address, a purse of fifty pounds, and a silver-mounted hot-water bottle"—she paused for a moment—"a trifle that shall remind him of the loving hearts he has left behind. (Murmurs of respectful appreciation.)
"Mr. Sopley has fought the good fight in Fulham for upwards of twenty-five years, and he is now about to retire to enjoy the rest that he has so well and thoroughly earned. ("'Ere, 'ere!" from Bindle.) I trust and hope that the Lord will spare him for many years to come. ("I'm sure I would if I was Gawd," whispered Bindle to Mr. Tuddenham, who only glared at him.)
"We have now among us," continued Lady Knob-Kerrick, "a new pastor, a man of sterling worth and sound religious principles. ("That's you!" said Bindle in a hoarse whisper, nudging Mr. MacFie who stood next to him.) I have," proceeded Lady Knob-Kerrick, "sat under him ("Oh, naughty! naughty!" whispered Bindle. Lady Knob-Kerrick glared at him),—sat—sat under him for a number of years at Barton Bridge, where he will always be remembered as a man devoted to" ("Temperance fêtes!" interpolated Bindle.)
The result of the interruption was electrical. Lady Knob-Kerrick dropped her lorgnettes and lost her place. Mr. MacFie's "adam's apple" moved up and down with alarming rapidity, testifying to the great emotional ordeal through which he was passing. Mr. Hearty looked at Mrs. Bindle, Mrs. Bindle looked at Bindle, everybody looked at everybody else, because everyone had heard of the Temperance Fête fiasco. Lady Knob-Kerrick resumed her seat suddenly.
Then it was that Mr. Hearty had an inspiration. With a swift movement which precipitated him on the foot of Miss Torkington (whose anguished expression caused Bindle to mutter, "Fancy 'er bein' able to do that with 'er face!"), he landed beside Mr. Sopley. He managed to detach his eyes from their contemplation of the ceiling and impress on him that he had better make a reply. As he walked the few steps necessary to reach the table, Bindle once more started clapping vigorously, a greeting that was taken up by several of the other guests, but in a more modified manner.
In a mournful and foreboding voice, thoroughly appropriate to an hour of national disaster, Mr. Sopley thanked Lady Knob-Kerrick for her words, and the others for their notes. He referred to the shepherd, dragged in the sheep, scooped up the righteous, cast out the sinners; in short he said all the most obvious things in the most obvious manner. He promised the Alton Roaders harps and halos, and threw the rest of Fulham into the bottomless pit. With some dexterity he linked-up sin and the taxi-cab, saw in the motor-omnibus the cause of the weakening moral-fibre of the working-classes, expressed it as his conviction that Europe was being drenched in blood because Fulham thought less of faith than of football.
He was frankly pessimistic about the future of the district, an attitude of mind that appeared to have been induced by the garments of the local maidens. Fire and flood he promised Fulham, but made no mention of Hammersmith or Putney. In a voice that throbbed with emotion he took his official leave, having convinced everybody that only his intercessionary powers with heaven had stalled off for so long the impending fate he outlined.
Taking up from the table the bag of fifty pounds, he put it in his pocket and with bowed head walked towards the nearest chair.