"It's a shame, Mr. Hearty, that it is."
Mrs. Bindle folded her hands in her lap and drew in her chin, with the air of one who scents a great injustice. The injustice of the appointment quite blotted-out from her mind all thought of Alice.
"You got quite enough to do, Alf," wheezed Mrs. Hearty as, after many ineffectual bounces, she struggled to her feet, and stood swaying slightly as she beat her breast reproachfully.
"I could have found time," said Mr. Hearty, as he picked nervously at the quicks of his finger-nails.
"Of course you could," agreed Mrs. Bindle, looking up at her sister disapprovingly.
"I've never once missed a choir-practice," he continued, with the air of a man who is advancing a definite claim.
"Trust you," gasped Mrs. Hearty, as she rolled towards the door. "It's them gals," she added. "Good-night, Lizzie. Don't be long, Alf. You always wake me getting into bed," and, with a final wheeze, she passed out of the room.
Mr. Hearty coughed nervously behind his hand; whilst Mrs. Bindle drew in her lips and chin still further. The indelicacy of Mrs. Hearty's remark embarrassed them both.
It had always been Mr. Hearty's wish to train the choir at the Alton Road Chapel, and when Mr. Smithers had resigned, owing to chronic bronchitis and the approach of winter, Mr. Hearty felt that the time had come when yet another of his ambitions was to be realised. There had proved, however, to be another Richmond in the field, in the shape of Mr. Coplestone, who kept an oil-shop in the New King's Road.
By some means unknown to Mr. Hearty, his rival had managed to invest the interest of the minister and several of the deacons, with the result that Mr. Hearty had come out a very bad second.