"Thank you, Father—"
"Thank you, Father—"
"Thank you, Father—," etc., etc.
I went home with a troubled conscience, and I read that blessed Maynooth statute about dances. Then I had no sleep that night.
The doctor and the deputation called on me about a fortnight later to settle accounts. I thought they were not very enthusiastic. They left the door open, and sat near it.
"We came to settle about the concert, sir," said the doctor; "we thought you'd would like to see our balance-sheet."
"Good Heavens!" was all I could say.
"Yes," I said, demurely, "and, of course, if the balance itself was convenient—"