“The gift was originally forty-two kroner altogether, that being the sum found when the box was opened. Fru Westergaard gave thirty-five herself. You were in her good books, my friend.”
Karlsen allowed himself a momentary lapse from dignity to the extent of a single wink.
“The rocking-chair,” murmured Egholm reminiscently.
“But,” went on the Evangelist, “you owed arrears of tithe ever since February of last year....”
His voice grew thick with imminent laughter.
“So we decided to annex the forty kroner for tithes—and here’s the rest!”
“Decided ... who decided? When the money was collected for me? Impossible!”
“The congregation agreed to it,” said Karlsen unconcernedly. Then suddenly he dug one thumb into his despairing brother’s ribs, uttered a sound like the rasp of a saw, and whispered:
“And Fru Westergaard was there, too—my son!”