The young man nodded. "I hope they'll remember it, hard!"
"They will," said Dr. Lavendar, sighing.
"I spent my last cent on Mary," Algernon rambled on. "I got her a good coffin—a stylish coffin. The plate was solid silver. The man wanted me to take a plated one. I says 'no,' I says; 'I don't get plated things for my wife if it takes my last cent.' Well, it just about took it. But I don't care. Her people threw her off, and I did for her. I spent my last cent."
"You took her from them in the first place, Algernon," the old minister said. "Don't forget that you sinned."
"Well, you said she was forgiven," the other broke out, angrily. "I guess God's more easy than some people."
"He is."
"Well, then," Algy said, resentfully; "what's the use of talking?"
Dr. Lavendar was silent.
"I don't begrudge a cent I spent on her," Algy went on. "I had laid by $1140 to set up a place of my own here in Mercer. At least, it wasn't me; I'm not one to save much; it was Mary did it. But these last eight months have taken it all, 'cause I 'ain't done hardly any work; couldn't be away from her on the road, you know; so we had to live on that money. I could 'a' got a cheaper coffin; but I wouldn't. As for the doctor, I got the best in town. I don't believe in economizing on your wife. And I paid him. I paid him $204 yesterday morning, though it seems high, considering he didn't cure her. But I wasn't going to let Mary get buried owing the doctor. And I paid for the coffin. 'Spot cash,' I says to the man, 'make it spot cash, and name your figure.' He took off $17. Well, how much do you suppose I've got left now, Dr. Lavendar, out of $1140? Just $23, sir. I don't care; I don't begrudge Mary a cent. I thought the coffin looked handsome, didn't you?—Oh, I wish somebody had 'a' moved those chairs when we were gone!" he cried, his voice shrill and breaking.
Dr. Lavendar got up and pushed one of the chairs back against the wall and brought the other to Algy's side. The young man laid his hand on it and began to cry.