HEPSEY CALLS A MEETING
For the next few days Hepsey's mind worked in unfamiliar channels, for
her nature was that of a benevolent autocrat, and she had found
herself led by circumstances into a situation demanding the prowess
and elasticity of the diplomat. To begin with, she must risk a gamble
at the meeting: if the spiritual yeast did not rise in old Bascom, as
she hoped it would, and crown her strategy with success, she would
have to fall back on belligerent tactics, and see if it were not
possible to get his duty out of him by threatened force of public
opinion: and she knew that, with his obstinacy, it would be touch and
go on which side of the fence he would fall in a situation of that
kind--dependent, in fact, upon the half turn of a screw, more or less,
for the result. Furthermore, she concluded that beyond the vaguest
hint of her call on Bascom and the object of the meeting, she could
not show her hand to Maxwell; for he would feel it his duty to step in
and prevent the possibility of any such open breach as failure on
Hepsey's part would probably make in the parish solidarity. For once
she must keep her own counsel--except for Jonathan, whose present
infatuated condition made him an even safer and more satisfactory
source of "advice" than he normally was. But the evening before the
meeting, as he sat on Hepsey's porch, he began to experience qualms,
perhaps in his capacity as Junior Warden. But Hepsey turned upon him
relentlessly:
"Now see here! You know I don't start somethin' unless I can see it
through; and if it means a scrap, so much the better. Next to a good
revival, a good hard scrap in a stupid parish has a real spiritual
value. It stimulates the circulation, increases the appetite, gives
people somethin' to think about, and does a lot of good where peaceful
ways would fail. The trouble with us is that we've always been a
sight too peaceful. If I've got to do it, I'm goin' to make a row, a
real jolly row that'll make some people wish they'd never been born.
No-no-no! Don't you try to interfere. We've come to a crisis, and I'm
goin' to meet it. Don't you worry until I begin to holler for first
aid to the injured. A woman can't vote for a vestryman, though women
form the bulk of the congregation, and do most all of the parish work;
and the whole church'd go to smithereens if it weren't for the women.
But there's one thing a woman can always do: _She can talk_. They say
that talk is cheap; but sometimes it's a mighty expensive article, if
it's the right kind; and maybe the men will have to settle the bills.
I'm going to _talk_; perhaps you think that's nothing new. But you
don't know how I can talk when once I get my dander up. Somebody's
goin' to sit up and pay attention this time. Bascom'll conclude to
preside at the meetin'; whichever way he means to act; and I've fixed
it so Maxwell will be engaged on other duties. No; go 'way. I don't
want to see you around here again until the whole thing's over."
"All right Hepsey, all right. I guess if it goes through the way you
want you'll be that set up you'll be wantin' to marry old Bascom
'stead of me," chuckled Jonathan, as the lady of his choice turned to
enter the house.
She faced round upon him as she reached the door, her features set
with grim determination:
"If I get the whole caboodle, bag and baggage, from the meetin' and
from Bascom, there's no knowin' but what I'll send for the parson and
be married right there and then. There isn't a thing I could think of,
in the line of a real expensive sacrifice, that'd measure up as
compensation for winnin' out--not even marryin' you, Jonathan
Jackson."
So Hepsey laid down lines for control of the meeting, ready with a
different variety of expedients, from point to point in its progress,
as Sylvester Bascom's attitude at the time might necessitate. For she
felt very little anxiety as to her ability to carry the main body of
the audience along with her.
The night of the meeting the Sunday School Room, adjacent to the
church, was filled full to a seat at least a quarter of an hour before
the time announced for the meeting. Hepsey had provided herself with a
chair in the center of the front row, directly facing the low platform
to be occupied by the chairman. Her leather bag hung formidably on one
arm, and a long narrow blank book was laid on her lap. She took little
notice of her surroundings, and her anxiety was imperceptible, as she
thrummed with a pencil upon the book, glancing now and then at the
side door, watching for Bascom's entrance. The meeting buzzed light
conversation, as a preliminary. Had she miscalculated on the very
first move? Was he going to treat the whole affair with lofty disdain?
As the hour struck, dead silence reigned in the room, expectant; and
Jonathan, who sat next her, fidgeted nervously.
"Five minutes' grace, and that's all; if he's not here by then, it'll
be up to you to call the meetin' to order," whispered Hepsey.
"Sakes!" hissed the terrified Junior Warden, "you didn't say nothin'
about that, Hepsey," he protested.
She leveled a withering glance at him, and was about to reduce him to
utter impotence by some scathing remark, when both were startled by a
voice in front of them, issuing from "the chair." Silently the Senior
Warden had entered, and had proceeded to open the meeting. His face
was set and stern, and his voice hard and toneless. No help from that
quarter, Hepsey mentally recorded.
"As the rector of this parish is not able to be present I have been
asked to preside at this meeting. I believe that it was
instigated--that is suggested, by some of the ladies who believe that
there are some matters of importance which need immediate attention,
and must be presented to the congregation without delay. I must beg to
remind these ladies that the Wardens and Vestrymen are the business
officers of the church; and it seems to my poor judgment that if any
business is to be transacted, the proper way would be for the Vestry
to take care of it. However, I have complied with the request and have
undertaken to preside, in the absence of the rector. The meeting is
now open for business."
Bascom sat down and gazed at the audience, but with a stare so
expressionless as gave no further index to his mood. For some time
there was a rather painful silence; but at last Hepsey Burke arose and
faced about to command the audience.
"Brethren and sisters," she began, "a few of us women have made up our
minds that it's high time that somethin' was done towards payin' our
rector what we owe him, and that we furnish him with a proper house to
live in."
At this point, a faint murmur of applause interrupted the speaker, who
replied: "There. There. Don't be too quick. You won't feel a bit like
applaudin' when I get through. It's a burnin' shame and disgrace that
we owe Mr. Maxwell about two hundred dollars, which means a mighty lot
to him, because if he was paid in full every month he would get just
about enough to keep his wife and himself from starvin' to death. I
wasn't asked to call this meetin'; I asked the rector to, and I asked
the Senior Warden to preside. And I told the rector that some of
us--both men and women--had business to talk about that wasn't for his
ears. For all he knows, we're here to pass a vote of censure on him.
The fact is that we have reached the point where somethin' has got to
be done right off quick; and if none of the Vestrymen do it, then a
poor shrinkin' little woman like myself has got to rise and mount the
band wagon. I'm no woman's rights woman, but I have a conscience
that'll keep me awake nights until I have freed my mind."
Here Hepsey paused, and twirling her pencil between her lips, gazed
around at her auditors who were listening with breathless attention.
Then she suddenly exclaimed with suppressed wrath, and in her
penetrating tones:
"What is the matter with you men, anyway? You'd have to pay your
butcher, or your baker, or your grocer, whether you wanted to or not.
Then why in the name of conscience don't you pay your parson?
Certainly religion that don't cost nothin' is worse than nothin'. I'll
tell you the reason why you don't support your parson: It's just
because your rector's a gentleman, and can't very well kick over the
traces, or balk, or sue you, even if you do starve him. So you,
prosperous, big-headed men think that you can sneak out of it. Oh, you
needn't shuffle and look mad; you're goin' to get the truth for once,
and I had Johnny Mullins lock the front door before I began."
The whole audience responded to this sally with a laugh, but the
speaker relented not one iota. "Then when you've smit your rector on
one cheek you quote the Bible to make him think he ought to turn his
overcoat also." Another roar. "There: you don't need to think I'm
havin' a game. I'm not through yet. Now let's get right down to
business. We owe our rector a lot of money, and he is livin' in a tent
because we neglected to pay the interest on the rectory mortgage held
by the Senior Warden of our church. Talkin' plain business, and
nothin' else, turned him out of house and home, and we broke our
business contract with him. Yes we did! And now you know it.
"Some of us have been sayin'--and I was one of 'em till Mr. Maxwell
corrected me--that it was mean of Mr. Bascom to turn the rector and
his wife out of their house. But business is business, and until we've
paid the last cent of our contributions, we haven't any right to
throw stones at anyone. Wait till we've done our part, for that! We've
been the laughing stock of the whole town because of our pesky
meanness. That tent of ours has stuck out on the landscape like a
horse fly on a pillow sham.
"It's not my business to tell how the rector and his wife have had to
economize and suffer, to get along at all; or how nice and
uncomplainin' they've been through it all. They wouldn't want me to
say anythin' of that; sportsmen they are, both of 'em. The price of
food's gone up, and the rector's salary gone down like a teeter on a
log.
"Now, as I remarked before, let's get right down to business. The only
way to raise that money is to raise it! There's no use larkin' all
'round Robin Hood's barn, or scampering round the mulberry bush any
longer. I don't care for fairs myself, where you have to go and buy
somethin' you don't want, for five times what it's worth, and call it
givin' to the Lord. And I don't care to give a chicken, and then have
to pay for eatin' the same old bird afterwards. I won't eat soda
biscuit unless I know who made 'em. Church fairs are an invention of
the devil to make people think they're religious, when they are only
mighty restless and selfish.
"The only thing to do is to put your hands in your trousers pockets
and pay, cash down, just as you would in any business transaction. And
by cash, I don't mean five cents in the plate Sunday, and a dollar for
a show on Tuesday. We've none of us any business to pretend to give to
the Lord what doesn't cost a red cent, as the Bible says, somewheres.
Now don't get nervous. I'm going to start a subscription paper right
here and now. It'll save lots of trouble, and you ought to jump at the
chance. You'll be votin' me a plated ice-water pitcher before we get
through, for bein' so good to you--just as a little souvenir of the
evenin'."
A disjointed murmur of disapproval rose from sundry parts of the room
at this summary way of meeting the emergency. Nelson, who had tried in
vain to catch the eye of the chair, rose at a venture and remarked
truculently:
"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 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 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, 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, 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 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 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 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, 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.
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.'"
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.
"And I agree with you," he added presently, in a quiet voice: "I _was_
a skinflint for fair!"
Almost Hepsey forgot herself so far as to clap thunderously: she
caught her hands together just in time--recollecting that her
demonstration would be taken too literally.
"But I would not have you misunderstand me: though it was for me to
call myself a skinflint for that act, it was not for you to do so. You
did so on wrong grounds. Those who in making money have been less
successful than others, find it convenient to leave all such
obligations upon the shoulders of the richer man, and to say 'it's up
to him; he can afford it.' Is it any wonder that it makes the rich man
sour on subscriptions and philanthropies? He has as much, or more, of
inducement to apply his earnings and savings to his own ends and
pleasures; why then, is it not up to all, in their own proportions to
meet social needs? A good many years of such meanness among his
neighbors makes even a rich man sour and mean, I guess. And that's
what it made me--and though that isn't a justification of my act, it
gave me as much right to call you skinflints as for you to call me:
all except one of you, Hepsey Burke."
The meeting quivered with tense excitement. What did it all mean? If a
chicken had sneezed the whole gathering would have been dissolved in
hysterics, it was so keyed up with a sense of the impending disclosure
of a deep mystery. As for Hepsey, she sat motionless, though Jonathan
believed that he caught sight of a tear glistening in its descent.
"Hepsey Burke had a right to call me a skinflint, because she knew
what none of you knew; but because it was private knowledge she
wouldn't make use of it against me--not unless she couldn't have done
what was right any other way. And now I'm going to tell you what she
knew:
"The rectory was my wife's property, and she intended it as a gift to
the parish, for the rectory of the church. I was preparing the deeds
of transfer, when she died--suddenly, as some of you remember," his
voice made heroic efforts to keep clear and steady, "owing to her
death before the transfer, that house passed to our daughter; and what
I intended to do was to buy it of her and present it to the parish. I
delayed, at first for good reasons. And I suppose as I got more and
more lonesome and mixed less and less with people, I got sourer--and
then I delayed from meanness. It would have been easy enough for me to
buy it of my daughter, and she'd have been willing enough; but as I
saw more and more put upon me, and less and less human recognition--I
was 'a rich man,' and needed no personal sympathy or encouragement, it
seemed--I held back. And I got so mean, I couldn't make friends with
the rector, even."
He paused, and from the half smile on his face, and the hint of
brightness that passed over his expression, the audience caught
relief.
"I guess a good shaking up is good for a man's liver: it cures a sour
stomach--and as there are those that say the way to a man's heart is
through his stomach, perhaps it cures a sour heart. I got my shaking
up all right, as you know; and perhaps that's been working a cure on
me. Or perhaps it was the quiet ministrations of that little Mrs.
Betty of yours"--applause--"or the infusion of some of the rector's
blood in my veins (he let himself be bled to keep me alive, after I'd
lost what little blood I had, as you probably have never
heard)"--shouts of applause--"or possibly what cured me was a little
knitting-visit that Hepsey Burke paid me the other day, and during
which she dropped some home-truths: I can't say.
"Before I decided what I would do about the rectory, I wanted to see
what you would do, under Mrs. Burke's guidance, this evening. You've
shouldered your share, as far as the rector's salary is concerned.
Well--I'll add what I consider my fair share to that, fifty dollars.
The arrears due on the mortgage interest is one hundred and twenty
dollars. I shall hold you to your side of that bargain, to date. If
you pay the rector the two hundred dollars due him on his salary, you
will need to subscribe about another forty to make up the interest:
that done, and paid to me, I will do my part, and present the rectory
to the parish, in memory of my dear wife, as she desired."
He sat down.
Hepsey rose and called out in a clear voice:
"He's right; Mr. Bascom's dead right; it's up to us to be business
first, and clear ourselves of the debt on a business bargain; then we
can accept the gift without too much worryin'." And she sent a very
friendly smile over to Bascom.
Again there was some cheering, in the midst of which Jonathan Jackson
jumped to his feet beside Hepsey; and facing the room, with his arm
through hers, he shouted:
"Hepsey Burke and me will make up the difference!"
Another cheer went up, and Hepsey's face flamed scarlet amid the
craning of necks and chaffing laughter--half puzzled, half
understanding.
Sylvester Bascom rose to his feet, and there was silence. With assumed
seriousness he addressed Hepsey, still standing:
"Mrs. Burke, so that it may be quite in order, do you endorse Mr.
Jackson's authority to speak for you in this matter?"
Every eye was turned upon them; but Hepsey could find not a word, so
flabergasted was she by this sudden move of Jonathan's. Jonathan
himself colored furiously, but stuck to his guns, and Hepsey's arm:
"Well, to tell the truth," he replied in a jaunty voice, "Hepsey Burke
and me's goin' to be married right now, so I guess we'll combine our
resources, like."
This announcement gave the coup de grace to any further attempt at
orderliness, and the room became a seething chorus of congratulatory
greetings aimed at Hepsey and Jonathan, in the midst of which
Sylvester Bascom slipped out unnoticed.
[Illustration]