“Hold your tongue!” retorted the Captain, aroused to anger. “A pretty example you’d set, let you have your way. Every one of the lot shall be made to pay to the last farthing. Who the devil is to pay, do you suppose, if they don’t?”
“Rates are imposed upon the parish needlessly, Captain Monk; it has been so ever since my time here. Pardon me for saying that if you put up chimes to gratify yourself, you should bear the expense, and not throw it upon those who have a struggle to get bread to eat.”
Captain Monk drank off another glass. “Any more treason, Parson?”
“Yes,” said Mr. West, “if you like to call it so. My conscience tells me that the whole procedure in regard to setting up these chimes is so wrong, so manifestly unjust, that I have determined not to allow them to be heard until the rates levied for them are refunded to the poor and oppressed. I believe I have the power to close the belfry-tower, and I shall act upon it.”
“By Jove! do you think you are going to stand between me and my will?” cried the Captain passionately. “Every individual who has not yet paid the rate shall be made to pay it to-morrow.”
“There is another world, Captain Monk,” interposed the mild voice of the minister, “to which, I hope, we are all——”
“If you attempt to preach to me——”
At this moment a spoon fell to the ground by the sideboard. The Vicar turned to look; his back was towards it; the Captain peered also at the end of the rapidly-darkening room: when both became aware that one of the servants—Michael, who had shown in Mr. West—stood there; had stood there all the time.
“What are you waiting for, sirrah?” roared his master. “We don’t want you. Here! put this window open an inch or two before you go; the room’s close.”
“Shall I bring lights, sir?” asked Michael, after doing as he was directed.