Hepsey Burke

“This is a most unusual proceeding, Mrs. Burke.”

The chair remained immobile—but Hepsey turned upon the foe like a flash of lightning.

“Precisely, Mr. Nelson. And we are a most unusual parish. I don’t claim to have any information gained by world-wide travel, but livin’ my life as I’ve found it here, in ths town, I’ve got to say, that this is the first time I ever heard of a church turnin’ its rector out of house and home, and refusin’ to give 293 him salary enough to buy food for his family. Maybe in the course of your professional travels this thing has got to be an everyday occurrence to you,—but there’s some of us here, that ’aint got much interest in such goings-on, outside of Durford.”

“You have no authority to raise money for the church; I believe the Warden will concur in that opinion?” and he bowed towards Bascom.

“That is a point for the meeting to decide,” he replied judicially, as Hepsey turned towards him.

“Seems to me,” continued Mrs. Burke, facing the audience, “that authority won’t fill the rector’s purse so well as cash. It’s awful curious how a church with six Vestrymen and two Wardens, all of them good business men—men that can squeeze money out of a monkey-wrench, and always get the best of the other fellow in a horse-trade, and smoke cigars enough to pay the rector’s whole salary—get limp and faint and find it necessary to fall back on talkin’ about ‘authority’ when any money is to be raised. What we want in the parish is not authority, but just everyday plain business hustle, the sort of hustle that wears trousers; and as we don’t seem to get that, the next best kind is the sort that wears skirts. I’d always rather that men shall do the public work than women; but if men won’t, women must. What we need right here in 294 Durford is a few full grown men who aren’t shirks or quitters, who can put up prayers with one hand while they put down the cash with the other; and I don’t believe the Lord ever laid it up against any man who paid first, and prayed afterwards.

“Now brethren, don’t all speak at once. I’m goin’ to start takin’ subscriptions. Who’s goin’ to head the list?”

A little withered old woman laboriously struggled to her feet, and in a high-pitched, quavering voice began:

“I’d like to give suthin’ towards the end in view. Our rector were powerful good to my Thomas when he had the brown kitties in his throat. He came to see him mos’ every day and read to him, and said prayers with him, and brought him papers and jelly. He certainly were powerful good to my Thomas; and once when Thomas had a fever our rector said that he thought that a bath would do my Thomas a heap of good, and he guessed he’d give him one. So I got some water in a bowl and some soap, and our rector he just took off his coat, and his vest, and his collar, and his cuffs, and our rector he washed Thomas, and he washed him, and he wa–”

“Well,” Hepsey interrupted, to stay the flow of eloquence, “so you’d like to pay for his laundry now, 295 would you Mrs. Sumner? Shall I put you down for two dollars? Good! Mrs. Sumner sets the ball rollin’ with two dollars. Who’ll be the next?”

As there was no response, Mrs. Burke glanced critically over the assembly until she had picked her man, and then announced:

“Hiram Mason, I’m sure you must be on the anxious bench?”

Hiram colored painfully as he replied:

“I don’t know as I am prepared to say what I can give, just at present, Mrs. Burke.”

“Well now let’s think about it a little. Last night’s Daily Bugle had your name in a list of those that gave ten dollars apiece at St. Bridget’s fair. I suppose the Irish trade’s valuable to a grocer like yourself; but you surely can’t do less for your own church? I’ll put you down for ten, though of course you can double it if you like.”

“No,” said Hiram, meditatively; “I guess ten’ll do.”

“Hiram Mason gives ten dollars. The Lord loveth a cheerful giver. Thanks, Hiram.”

Again there was a pause; and as no one volunteered, Hepsey continued:

“Sylvester Perkins, how much will you give?”

“I suppose I’ll give five dollars,” Sylvester responded, 296 before Mrs. Burke could have a chance to put him down for a larger sum. “But I don’t like this way of doin’ things a little bit. It’s not a woman’s place to hold up a man and rob him in public meetin’.”

“No, a woman usually goes through her husband’s pockets when he’s asleep, I suppose. But you see I’m not your wife. Thanks, Mr. Perkins: Mr. Perkins, five dollars,” she repeated as she entered his subscription in the book. “Next?” she called briskly.

“Mrs. Burke, I’ll give twenty dollars, if you think that’s enough,” called a voice from the back timidly.

Everyone turned to the speaker in some surprise. He was a delicate, slender fellow, evidently in bad health. He trembled nervously, and Mrs. Burke hesitated for an instant, between fear of hurting his feelings and letting him give more than she knew he could possibly afford.

“I am afraid you ought not to give so much, Amos. Let me put you down for five,” she said kindly. “We mustn’t rob Peter to pay Paul.”

“No, ma’am, put me down for twenty,” he persisted; and then burst forth—“and I wish it was twenty thousand. I’d do anything for Mr. Maxwell; I owe it to him, I tell you.”

The speaker hesitated a moment and wiped his 297 forehead with his handkerchief, and then continued slowly, and with obvious effort:

“Maybe you’ll think I am a fool to give myself away before a crowd like this, and I a member of the church; but the simple fact is that Mr. Maxwell saved my life once, when I was pretty near all in.”

Again the speaker stopped, breathing heavily, and there was absolute silence in the room. Regaining his courage, he continued: “Yes, he saved me, body and soul, and I guess I’ll tell the whole story. Most of you would have kicked me into the street or lodged me in jail; but he wasn’t that kind, thank God!

“I was clerking in the Post Office a while back, and I left town one night, suddenly. I’d been drinking some, and when I left, my accounts were two hundred dollars short. The thing was kept quiet. Only two men knew about it. Mr. Maxwell was one. He got the other man to keep his mouth shut, handed over the amount, and chased after me and made me come back with him and stay at his house for a while. Then he gave me some work and helped me to make a new start. He didn’t say a word of reproach, nor he didn’t talk religion to me. He just acted as if he cared a whole lot for me, and wanted to put me on my feet again.

“I didn’t know for a long time where Mr. Maxwell 298 got the money for me but after a while I discovered that he’d given a chattel mortgage on his books and personal belongings. Do you suppose that there’s anybody else in the world would have done that for me? It wasn’t only his giving me the money; it was finding that somebody trusted me and cared for me, who had no business to trust me, and couldn’t afford to trust me. That’s what saved me and kept me straight.

“I haven’t touched a drop since, and I never will. I’ve been paying my debt to him as quick as I can, and as far as money can pay it; but all the gold in the world wouldn’t even me up with him. I don’t know just why I’ve told all about it, but I guess it’s because I felt you ought to know the kind of a man the rector is; and I’m glad he isn’t here, or he’d never have let me give him away like this.”

Amos sat down, while the astonished gathering stared at him, the defaulter, who in a moment of gratitude had betrayed himself. The woman next to him edged a little farther away from him and watched him furtively, but he did not seem to care.

Under the stimulus of this confession, the feelings of the people quickly responded to the occasion, and a line soon formed, without further need of wit or eloquence on Hepsey’s part, to have their subscriptions 299 recorded. In half an hour, Mrs. Burke, whose face was glowing with pleasure—albeit she glanced anxiously from time to time towards old Mr. Bascom, in an endeavor to size up his mood and force his intentions—had written down the name of the last volunteer. She turned towards her audience:

“As I don’t want to keep you waitin’ here all night while I add up the subscriptions, I’ll ask the chairman to do it for me and let you know the result. He’s quicker at figurin’ than I am, I guess,” with which compliment, she smilingly handed the book to the Senior Warden. While the old man bent to his task, the room buzzed with low, excited conversation. Enough was already known of Bascom’s hostility to the rector, to make the meeting decidedly curious as to his attitude towards Hepsey’s remarks and the mortgage; and they knew him well enough to be aware that he would not allow that item in her speech to go unanswered, in some way or other.

All eyes rested upon the gaunt figure of the chairman, as he rose to his feet to announce the total of the subscription list. He cleared his throat, and looked down at Hepsey Burke; and Jonathan, as he squinted anxiously at Hepsey by his side, noticed that she sat with her eyes tight-closed, oblivious of the chairman’s glance. Jonathan looked hastily up at Bascom, 300 and noticed him shift his position a little nervously, as he cleared his throat again.

“The amount subscribed on this list, is two hundred and thirty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents,” he said. The loud applause was instantaneous, and Jonathan turned quickly to Hepsey, as he stamped his feet and clapped his hands.

“Thirty-seven thirty-five more than we owe him; Hepsey, you’ve done fine,” he chortled.

But Hepsey’s look was now riveted on the chairman, and except for a half-absent smile of pleasure, the keenest anxiety showed in her expression.

Bascom cleared his voice again, and then proceeded:

“Mrs. Burke informed you that the rector’s salary was in arrears to the extent of about two hundred dollars. It is now for this meeting to pass a formal resolution for the application of the amount subscribed to the object in view.”

Hepsey’s lips narrowed; not a cent was down on the list to the name of the Senior Warden; the debt was being paid without assistance from him.

“I presume I may put it to the meeting that the amount, when collected, be paid over to the rector by a committee formed for that purpose?” proceeded the chairman. 301

This resolution being duly seconded and carried, Bascom continued:

“Before we adjourn I request the opportunity to make a few remarks, in reply to Mrs. Burke’s observations concerning the ejection of the rector from the house which he occupied. She was good enough to spare my feelings by pointing out that from a business or legal point of view it was not I who was responsible for that act, but the parishioners, who, having purchased the rectory subject to a mortgage, had failed to meet the interest upon it. That is what Mrs. Burke said: what she did not say, and what none of you have said in public, though I reckon you’ve said it among yourselves, I will take upon myself to say for her and you.”

He paused—and every eye was fixed upon him and every mouth agape in paralysed astonishment: and the said features of Hepsey Burke were no exception to the rule.

“When,” continued Bascom evenly and urbanely, “the word went round that the interest on the mortgage had got behind, and the money must be collected for it, those concerned no doubt remarked easily: ‘Oh, I guess that’ll be all right. Bascom won’t worry about that; he don’t need it; anyway he can pay it to himself, for the parish, if he does.’” 302

There was an uncomfortable stirring of the audience at this shrewd thrust; but Hepsey could not contain herself, and laughed right out, clapping loudly.

“And yet I don’t mind saying that if I had thought of suggesting to anyone of you such a method of collecting interest due to you, you might have kicked some,” he commented dryly.

“At the next step, when I ultimately concluded to act upon my right to eject Mr. Maxwell from the rectory, I’ve no doubt that on all sides it was: ‘Well, did you ever know the likes of that? Turning the rector out of house and home! Well he’s a skinflint for fair!’”

He paused and watched the effect. This time his hearers sat absolutely motionless.