Augustus Carp, Esq., by Himself: Being the Autobiography of a Really Good ManBashford, H. H. (Henry Howarth), Sir
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Augustus Carp, Esq., by Himself: Being the Autobiography of a Really Good Man
Bashford, H. H. (Henry Howarth), Sir
English fiction -- 20th century; Humorous stories; Satire
Yes, they were trustees. They must never forget that. That was a
distinction that he would have them remember. They were not only human
beings, but they were churchmen and trustees—church-beings, trustees and
human men—yea, and women also, churchees and trust-men; furniture-women,
church-trusts and humanees. They were all those things, and they would
remember the old saying, so many men, so many opinions. Thus it might be
argued—and very reasonably argued—that the present reading-desk was
sufficient, and that the very magnificence of this noble bird might a
little detract from its holy purpose. As for that, the congregation must
judge. He would welcome the opinion of each one of them. There was not
one of them whose opinion he would not welcome, even the lowliest and
most sinful. For though our heritage had come unto us as a speckled
bird, as a bird having talons, it did not necessarily follow that it was
our Xtian duty to take it up and enter into it. Many great men, as they
were doubtless aware, had given up heritages of considerable value, and
who should say that they had not been actuated by the highest and most
holy considerations? But others like Esau had lived to regret it. It was
a matter for the congregation to decide, united though they would be in
their undying appreciation of the splendid munificence of Mr. Carkeek. A
speckled bird, a bird having talons—let them not lightly discard their
heritage. But let them not, on the other hand, too lightly accept it as
a bird of no moment. Then, with obvious relief, and indeed a certain
amount of complacence, he hurriedly backed down the pulpit steps, just
as the curate, leaping to his feet, gave out the number of the closing
hymn.
But my father was not perturbed. Throughout the whole service, indeed,
he had sat there expressionless as a sphinx, but none the less terrible,
because his unwinking eyes had given no hint of their ultimate purpose.
Then he rose to his feet, carrying his offertory plate, and it was only
in the very deliberateness with which he did so that the most discerning
might have gathered a hint, perhaps, of the stupendous judgment about to
fall from him. Nor did he allow the task, which was now so imminent, to
interfere with his usual custom of joining in the hymn to his uttermost
capacity as he moved from pew to pew collecting the offertory.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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