A chorus of approval went round the table. "Good," "Excellent," "A first-class man," muttered the trustees, "just what we want."
"I am sure, gentlemen," said Mr. Dick Overend, voicing the sentiments of everybody, "we do not want a cheap man. Several of the candidates whose names have been under consideration here have been in many respects—in point of religious qualification, let us say—most desirable men. The name of Dr. McSkwirt, for example, has been mentioned with great favour by several of the trustees. But he's a cheap man. I feel we don't want him."
"What is Mr. Dumfarthing getting where he is?" asked Mr. Boulder.
"Nine thousand nine hundred," said the chairman.
"And Dr. McSkwirt?"
"Fourteen hundred dollars."
"Well, that settles it!" exclaimed everybody with a burst of enlightenment.
And so it was settled.
In fact, nothing could have been plainer.
"I suppose," said Mr. George Overend as they were about to rise, "that we are quite justified in taking it for granted that Dr. McTeague will never be able to resume work?"