F. B. came forward, sir, there. That was a coup: I did it,
sir. Bellew wouldn't have sung for any man but me--and for two-and-twenty
months I kept him as sober as Father Mathew. Then Honeyman didn't pay
him: there was a row in the sacred building, and Bellew retired. Then
Sherrick must meddle in it. And having heard a chap out Hampstead way who
Sherrick thought would do, Honeyman was forced to engage him, regardless
of expense. You recollect the fellow, sir? The Reverend Simeon Rawkins,
the lowest of the Low Church, sir--a red-haired dumpy man, who gasped at
his h's and spoke with a Lancashire twang--he'd no more do for Mayfair
than Grimaldi for Macbeth. He and Honeyman used to fight like cat and dog
in the vestry: and he drove away a third part of the congregation. He was
an honest man and an able man too, though not a sound Churchman" (F. B.
said this with a very edifying gravity): "I told Sherrick this the very
day I heard him. And if he had spoken to me on the subject I might have
saved him a pretty penny--a precious deal more than the paltry sum which
he and I had a quarrel about at that time--a matter of business, sir--a
pecuniary difference about a small three months' thing which caused a
temporary estrangement between us.
Pages:
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606