“Well, gentlemen,” he now remarked quietly, “there is force in what you say.”
Mr. Caske and his two friends regarded their minister with a somewhat doubtful look. Mr. Caske seemed to think that Mr. Durnford’s remark made it necessary for him to justify the attitude he had assumed with regard to “Cobbler” Horn.
“Perhaps, sir,” he said, “you don’t know in what a reckless fashion our friend is disposing of his money?”
“Well, Mr. Caske, let us hear,” said the minister, settling himself to listen.
“Well, sir, you know about his having given up a great part of his fortune to some girl in America, because she was the sweetheart of a cousin of his who died.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Durnford, quietly, “I’ve heard of that.”
“Well, there was a mad trick, to begin with,” resumed Mr. Caske, in a severe tone. “And then there’s that big house in the village which, it’s said, all belongs to him. He’s fitting it up to be a sort of home for street arabs and gipsy children; and it’s costing him thousands of pounds that he’ll never see again!”
“Yes, I know about that too.”
“Then, you will, of course, be aware, sir, that he gives more to our church funds than any half-dozen of us put together.”
“Yes,” broke in Mr. Kershaw, with his obtrusive nose. “He thinks to shame the rest of us, no doubt. And they say now that he’s going to employ two town missionaries and a Bible-woman out of his own pocket. Is it true, think you, sir?”