"I think so."
"That's hardly possible. He only arrived last week, and has not yet had
time to become familiar with facts in the life of any one here.
Moreover, a personal allusion in a first sermon, by a stranger, is
something so out of place and indelicate, that I cannot for a moment
believe that your inference is correct."
"While I have the best of reasons for believing that I complain of him
justly. He's been long enough here to visit a certain family, fond of
tittle-tattle, that I could name."
"The Harrisons?"
"Yes."
"I hope you are mistaken."
"No; I am not mistaken. C-- was personal, and distinctly so. And the
Harrisons are at the bottom of the matter. To say the least, he has
acted in very bad taste. Charity should have prompted him to wait until
he could have heard both sides of the story."
"I agree with you, fully, if your allegation be correct. But I must
hope that you are in error."
"No. I have the best of reasons for what I allege."
"To whom did the personality apply?"
"To myself, if the truth must be spoken."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes--to myself."
"That places the matter in rather a serious light, Mr. Grant."
"It does. And I think I have reason to complain."
"You ought to be certain about this matter."
"I'm certain enough. When a man treads on your toe, you are likely to
know it."
"It is barely possible that Mr. C-- did not intend to designate you, or
any one, in what he said."
"He _must_ have meant me," replied Mr. Grant, with emphasis. "He
couldn't have said what he did, unless he had been informed of certain
things that have happened in this town. Had he not visited the
Harrisons, I might have doubted. But that fact places the thing beyond
a question."
"In what did the personality consist?"
"Did you not observe it?"
"No."
"Indeed!"
"I perceived no allusion to any one."
"There are plenty of others, no doubt, who did. I don't care to speak
of it just now. But you'll hear about it. I noticed three or four turn
and look at me while he was speaking. It will be a pleasant piece of
gossip; but if Mr. C-- doesn't take care, I'll make this place too hot
to hold him. I'm not the one to be set up as a target for any
whipper-snapper to fire at."
"Don't get excited, friend Grant. Wait awhile. I still think there is
some mistake."
"I beg your pardon; there is no mistake about it. He meant me. Don't I
know? Can't I tell when a man points his finger at me in a public
assembly?"
In his opinion, Mr. Grant was still further confirmed, ere he reached
his home, by the peculiar way in which sundry members of the
congregation looked at him. Of course, he was considerably disturbed on
the subject; and felt a reasonable share of indignation. In the
evening, he declined attending worship as an indication of his feelings
on the subject; and he doubted not that the new preacher would note his
absence and understand the cause.
About a year prior to this time, Mr. Grant, who was a manufacturing
jeweller, was called upon by a gentleman, who desired him to make a
solid gold wedding-ring. It was to be of the finest quality that could
be worked, and to be unusually heavy. When the price was mentioned, the
gentleman objected to it as high.
"Your neighbour, over the way," said the gentleman, "will make it for a
dollar less than you ask."
"Not of solid gold," replied Mr. Grant.
"Oh, yes. I would have no other."
Mr. Grant knew that the ring could not be made of fine, solid gold, for
the price his neighbour had agreed to take. And he knew, also, that in
manufacturing it, his neighbour, if he took the order, would fill up
the centre of the ring with solder--a common practice. On the spur of
the moment, he determined to do the same thing, and therefore replied--
"Well, I suppose I must work as low as he does."
"The ring must be of solid gold, remember. I will have no other."
"That's understood, of course," replied the jeweller; adding to
himself, "as solid as any one makes them."
The ring was manufactured at a reasonable profit, and the man got the
full worth of his money; but not of solid gold. Silver solder composed
the centre. But as the baser metal could not be detected by simple
inspection or weighing, Mr. Grant felt secure in the cheat he had
practised; and, quieted his conscience by assuming that he had given a
full equivalent for the money received.
"He's just as well off as he would have been if he had gone to my
neighbour over the way, as he called him," said he to himself, in the
effort to quiet certain unpleasant sensations. "To suppose that he was
going to get a solid ring at such a price! Does he think we jewellers
steal our gold? Men will be humbugged, and there is no help for it."
Yet, for all this, Mr. Grant could not cast out the unpleasant feeling.
He had done a thing so clearly wrong, that no attempt at
self-justification gave his mind its former calmness.
"The ring is solid gold?" said the man, when he came for it.
"That was the contract," replied Mr. Grant, with a half-offended air,
at the intimation conveyed in the tone of voice, that all might not be
as agreed upon.
"Excuse me," remarked the man, apologetically; "but I am very
particular about this matter, and would throw the ring into the street
rather than use it, if not of solid gold."
"Gold rings are not given away," muttered Grant to himself, as the man
left the shop.
Some days after this transaction, a man named Harrison, who belonged to
the church of which Grant was a member, met him, when this little
conversation took place.
"I sent you a customer last week," said Mr. Harrison.
"Ah! I'm very much obliged to you."
"A gentleman who wanted a gold ring. He asked me to give him the name
of a jeweller upon whom he could depend. The ring, he said, must be
solid, for a particular reason; and, as he was a stranger, he did not
know who was to be trusted. I told him I would guaranty you for an
honest man. That if you undertook to manufacture any article for him,
he might rely upon its being done according to agreement."
While Harrison was uttering this undeserved compliment, it was with the
utmost difficulty that Mr. Grant could keep the tell-tale blood from
rushing to his face.
"He showed me the ring," continued Mr. Harrison. "It is a very handsome
one."
"Was he satisfied with it?" asked Mr. Grant.
"Not fully."
"Why so?"
"He was afraid it might not be solid. In fact, so anxious was he on
this point, that he took the ring to your neighbour, over the way, to
get his opinion about it."
As Mr. Harrison said this, Grant was conscious that a betrayal of the
truth was on his countenance.
"And, of course, Martin said the ring was not solid."
"No, he did not exactly say that. I went with the gentleman, at his
request. Martin weighed the ring, and, after doing so, simply stated
that gold of the quality of which the ring was made was worth a certain
price per pennyweight. By multiplying the number of pennyweights
contained in the ring with the price mentioned, he showed that you
either lost one dollar on the ring, or filled the centre with some
baser metal."
"Well?" The blood had, by this time, risen to the very brow of the
jeweller.
"'Cut the ring,' said my friend. It was done, and, to my mortification
and astonishment, it proved to be even as he had said. The ring was not
solid!"
For some moments, Mr. Grant hung his head in painful confusion. Then,
looking up, he said--
"It was his own fault."
"How so?" was inquired.
"He would not pay the price for a solid ring, and I could not give him
my work for nothing."
"Did you ask him a fair price?"
"Yes; and he answered, that my neighbour over the way had offered to
make him a solid ring, for just one dollar less. I knew exactly what
kind of a ring Martin could and would furnish for that money, and made
him one just like it. I gave him his money's worth, and a little over.
He was not cheated."
"But he was deceived. How you could have done such a thing, brother
Grant, is more than I can understand."
"I had to do it in self-defence; and this very Martin, who has been so
ready to expose the little deception, made the act necessary."
"I'm sorry you should have done so. It was wrong," said Mr. Harrison.
"I'm ready to acknowledge that. But it's too late, now, to repair the
error. I wish I'd had nothing to do with the matter."
"So do I," remarked Harrison.