"Well, look here," said Father Letheby, "I'm not going to submit to this infamous extortion. I didn't employ you, and I acknowledge no responsibility whatsoever."
"That manes you won't pay us, your reverence?" said the foreman, in a free translation.
"Precisely," said Father Letheby, closing the door abruptly.
He heard them murmuring and threatening outside, but took no notice of them. Later in the evening he took his usual stroll. He found these fellows loafing around the public house. They had been denouncing him vigorously, and occasionally a Parthian shaft came after him:—
"Begor, 't is quare, sure enough."
"Begor, we thought the priests couldn't do any wrong."
But when he turned the corner he met a good deal of sympathy:—
"Wisha, begor, 't is your reverence was wanted to tache these blackguards a lesson."
"Wisha, 't was God sent you," etc., etc.
Now, one shilling would have given these fellows lashings of porter, and secured their everlasting fealty and an unlimited amount of popularity. I told him so.