“You did, on the porch here the other evening.”
“I never said so. There isn’t a preacher around here gets that much. The Episcopalians with their rich people only give eighteen hundred.”
“And a house.”
“Very well, the Presbyterians can build a house if they want to.”
“You consent then to pledge five hundred more to the minister’s salary?”
“I said I would if you would, but my advice is just to let the matter go over until to-morrow or next day, when the whole thing can be considered.”
“Very well, but, George, sixty thousand dollars is a great deal of money, and we certainly can afford to be liberal with it, for the General’s sake as well as for our own!”
“Everything depends upon how you look at it. In one way the sum is large. In another way it isn’t. General Jenkins had just twenty times sixty thousand. Tremendous, isn’t it? He might just as well have left us another million. He is in Heaven and wouldn’t miss it. Then we could have some of our plans more fully carried out.”
“I hate to be thought covetous,” answered Mrs. Grimes, “but I do wish he had put on that other million.”
The next day Mr. Grimes, while sitting with his wife after supper, took a memorandum from his pocket and said:
“I’ve been jotting down some figures, Mary Jane, just to see how we will come out with our income of sixty thousand dollars.”
“Well?”
“If we give the place across the street for a park and a library and a hundred thousand dollars with which to run it, we shall have just nine hundred thousand left.”
“Yes.”
“We shall want horses, say a carriage pair, and a horse for the station wagon. Then I must have a saddle horse and there must be a pony for the children. I thought also you might as well have a gentle pair for your own driving. That makes six. Then there will have to be, say, three stable men. Now, my notion is that we shall put up a larger house farther up town with all the necessary stabling. Count the cost of the house and suitable appointments, and add in the four months’ trip to Europe which we decided yesterday to take next summer, and how much of that fifty-four thousand do you think we shall have left at the end of the year?”
“But why build the house from our income?”
“Mary Jane, I want to start out with the fixed idea that we will not cut into our principal.”
“Well, how much will we have over?”
“Not a dollar! The outlay for the year will approximate fifty-six thousand dollars.”
“Large, isn’t it?”
“And yet I don’t see how we can reduce it if we are to live as people in our circumstances might reasonably be expected to live.”
“We must cut off something.”
“That is what I think. If we give the park and the library building to the town why not let the town pay the cost of caring for them?”
“Then we could save the interest on that other hundred thousand.”
“Exactly, and nobody will suffer. The gift of the property alone is magnificent. Who is going to complain of us? We will decide now to give the real estate and then stop.”
Two days later Mr. Grimes came home early from the bank with a letter in his hand. He looked white and for a moment after entering his wife’s room he could hardly command utterance.
“I have some bad news for you, dear—terrible news,” he said, almost falling into a chair.
The thought flashed through Mrs. Grimes’ mind that the General had made a later will which had been found and which revoked the bequest to George. She could hardly whisper:
“What is it?”
“The executors write to me that the million dollars left to me by the General draws only about four per cent. interest.”
“George!”
“Four per cent! Forty thousand dollars instead of sixty thousand! What a frightful loss! Twenty thousand dollars a year gone at one breath!”
“Are you sure, George?”
“Sure? Here is the letter. Read it yourself. One-third of our fortune swept away before we have a chance to touch it!”
“I think it was very unkind of the General to turn the four per cents. over to us while somebody else gets the six per cents. How could he do such a thing? And you such an old friend, too!”
“Mary Jane, that man always had a mean streak in him. I’ve said so to myself many a time. But, anyhow, this frightful loss settles one thing; we can’t afford to give that property across the street to the town. We must move over there to live, and even then, with the huge expense of keeping such a place in order, we shall have to watch things narrowly to make ends meet.”
“And you never were good at retrenching, George.”
“But we’ve got to retrench. Every superfluous expenditure must be cut off. As for the park and free library, that seems wild now, doesn’t it? I don’t regret abandoning the scheme. The people of this town never did appreciate public spirit or generosity, did they?”
“Never.”
“I’m very sorry you spoke to Mrs. Borrow about helping their church. Do you think she remembers it?”
“She met me to-day and said they were expecting something handsome.”
Mr. Grimes laughed bitterly.
“That’s always the way with those people. They are the worst beggars! When a lot of folks get together and start a church it is almost indecent for them to come running around to ask other folks to support it. I have half a notion not to give them a cent.”
“Not even for Mr. Borrow’s salary?”
“Certainly not! Half the clergymen in the United States get less than a thousand dollars a year; why can’t he do as the rest do? Am I to be called upon to support a lot of poor preachers? A good deal of nerve is required, I think, to ask such a thing of me.”
Two weeks afterward Mr. Grimes and his wife sat together again on the porch in the cool of the evening.
“Now,” said Grimes, “let us together go over these charities we were talking about and be done with them. Let us start with the tough fact staring us in the face that, with only one million dollars at four per cent. and all our new and necessary expenses, we shall have to look sharp or I’ll be borrowing money to live on in less than eight months.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Grimes, “what shall we cut out? Would you give up the Baptist organ that we used to talk about?”
“Mary Jane, it is really surprising how you let such things as that stay in your mind. I considered that organ scheme abandoned long ago.”
“Is it worth while, do you think, to do anything with the Methodist Church mortgage?”
“How much is it?”
“Three thousand dollars, I think.”
“Yes, three thousand from forty thousand leaves us only thirty-seven thousand. Then, if we do it for the Methodists we shall have to do it for the Lutherans and the Presbyterians and swarms of churches all around the country. We can’t make flesh of one and fowl of another. It will be safer to treat them all alike; and more just, too. I think we ought to try to be just with them, don’t you, Mary Jane?”
“And Mr. Borrow’s salary?”
“Ha! Yes! That is a thousand dollars, isn’t it? It does seem but a trifle. But they