By a curious coincidence, the actual figures came out very little above the ordinary retail price he was charging in his shops, which proved to him conclusively that he was in no sense of the term a profiteer. As a matter of fact, it showed that he was under-charging.
Other members of the chapel seemed to arrive at practically the same result as Mr. Hearty, and by similar means.
As the "poorer brethren" had no voice in the fixing of these prices, and as everyone was too interested in his own figures to think of criticising those of others, the "poorer brethren" either paid, or stayed away.
"You ought to join the choir, Elizabeth." It was Mr. Hearty's thank-offering for sympathy.
"Oh, Mr. Hearty!" she simpered. "I'm sure I couldn't sing well enough."
"You sing very nicely, Elizabeth. I have noticed it on Sunday evenings when you come round. You have a very good high soprano."
A quiver passed through Mrs. Bindle. She drew herself up, and her lips seemed to take on a softer line.
"I'm sure it's very good of you to say so," she responded gratefully.
"I shall still sing in the choir," said Mr. Hearty; "but——"
A heavy pounding overhead caused him to start violently. It was Mrs. Hearty's curfew.