"Ef—Brer Smiff'll loan me dat nickel?" said a timid voice near the window.
Smith hesitated, grinning broadly.
"Ef—ef I could o' spared de dime, Mr. Small, I'd a put it in myse'f, but—but—"
"But nothin'! Put de dime in de hat!"
The voice came from near the front now. "Put it all in de hat, Brer Smiff. You owes me a nickel an' I'll loan'd it to Mr. Small."
And so, amid much laughter, Smith reluctantly deposited his dime.
Others followed so fast that when Jordan exclaimed, "Who gwine be de nex'?" his words were almost lost in the commotion. Still his voice had its effect.
"Heah one mo'—two mo'—fo' mo'—eight mo'! Glory, I say! An' heah dey come in de winder! Oh, I'm proud ter see it, yo'ng men! I'm proud ter see it!"
Borrowing or making change was now the order of the moment, as every individual present who had not already contributed felt called upon thus to exonerate himself from so grave a charge.
Amid the fresh stir a tremulous female voice raised a hymn, another caught it up, and another—voices strong and beautiful; alto voices soft as flute notes blended with the rich bass notes and triumphant tenors that welled from the choir, and floated in from the windows, until the body of the church itself seemed almost to sway with the rhythmic movement of the stirring hymn