"And how are tithes being paid, Mr.
Granger? not very grandly, I fear. I saw that scoundrel Jones died in
prison."
Mr. Granger woke up at once. Before he had been talking almost at
random; the subject of his daughters did not greatly interest him. What
did interest him was this money question. Nor was it very wonderful;
the poor narrow-minded old man had thought about money till he could
scarcely find room for anything else, indeed nothing else really touched
him closely. He broke into a long story of his wrongs, and, drawing
a paper from his breast pocket, with shaking finger pointed out to
Geoffrey how that his clerical income for the last six months had been
at the rate of only forty pounds a year, upon which sum even a Welsh
clergyman could not consider himself passing rich. Geoffrey listened and
sympathised; then came a pause.
"That's how we've been getting on at Bryngelly, Mr. Bingham," Mr.
Granger said presently, "starving, pretty well starving. It's only you
who have been making money; we've been sitting on the same dock-leaf
while you have become a great man.
Pages:
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319