"No, I ain't," said Timson, gruffly; for Mr Timson's life had two phases--as Mr Timson, tea-dealer, and Mr Timson, vicar's churchwarden. In trade he metaphorically wore his apron fastened by a brass heart and a steel hook, and said, "Sir" to the world at large; while, as Mr Timson, the worthy old bachelor, who could have retired from business any day, and who smoked pipes and played cribbage at his own or the vicar's residence, he was another man, and as sturdy and independent as an Englishman need be. "No, I ain't," he said, gruffly. "I'm sure now as can be that it's old Purkis--a fat, canting, red-faced, hypocritical old sinner." "Don't be so aggravating, Timson," said the vicar. "How can you accuse him!" "Why what does he mean by always hanging about the boxes, and polish, polish, polishing them till the steel-work grows quite thin?" "That proves nothing," said the vicar. "Don't it?" exclaimed the churchwarden. "It proves that he has always been hanging about, till the money tempted him, and he could not resist it." "Nonsense!" said the vicar, crossly, as he broke a piece off his pipe. "Why, the very last time you were here, you were quite sure that it was Pellet." "Well, and so I'll be bound to say that it was," said Timson. "I was sure of it last week, only you would not have it that I was right." "Of course not," said the vicar, "when you declared only two days before that it was the organ-boy, whom you had caught spending money. How much did he spend, by the by?" "Well, only a halfpenny at a potato-can, certainly," said Timson; "but he must have been flush of money." "Pish!" ejaculated the vicar, contemptuously,--"nonsense!" "Ah! you may say `Pish,'" exclaimed Timson, angrily; "but it isn't nonsense. The money goes, don't it? and they're all in it, every man jack of 'em. It's a regular conspiracy." "I never in all my experience met with a less consistent man than you are, Timson," said the vicar. "I believe you would accuse me as soon as look at me, and then give some one else into custody for the theft." "No, I shouldn't," grumbled Mr Timson. "We should have found it all out by this time, only you will be so obstinate. I'd soon find it out if I had my way." "I do wish you would have a little more charity in you, Timson," continued the vicar, taking up and dealing the cards. "I honestly believe that if it had not been for me, you would have made two or three homes wretched by accusing people of the theft." "No business to steal poor-box money, then," said Mr Timson, through his nose, for his hands being occupied with his cards, his lips were tightly closed over the waxy end of his pipe. "It was Pellet, I'm sure." "No more Pellet than it was Purkis," said the vicar. "I never knew a more quiet, respectable man." "Nor a better organist, if he wouldn't be so long-winded," said Mr Timson, coolly.