“A what?”
Hemenway laughed.
“Yes, I thought so, too. It was simply this. There isn’t anyone to sing at the funerals Thursday. The choir that usually sings at funerals hereabouts is incapacitated through injuries to the bass and loss of a husband to the soprano. Rotalick wanted a day off to go hunting for singers over in Westmont.”
“Humph!” commented Mr. Barrington.
“I rather think our departed friends will excuse the lack of music,” laughed the general superintendent coarsely; but the laugh ceased at a flash from Miss Barrington’s eyes.
“Will you be so kind, Mr. Hemenway, as to tell the man that I will sing Thursday?” Once more the electric shock ran around that table, and once more Mrs. Barrington murmured faintly, “Why, my daughter!”
This time Mark Hemenway rose promptly to the occasion.
“How very kind!” he said suavely. “Indeed, Miss Barrington, one could almost afford to die for so great an honor. I will tell Rotalick. The miners will be overjoyed—they have bitterly bemoaned the probable lack of music tomorrow. Funny they should care so much!”
“Oh, I don’t know—they are human beings, I suppose,” Miss Barrington suggested.
“Yes—of course—certainly—but then——”