Three months elapsed, and nothing was done.  No cards were issued from the home of Peters announcing a sale of any kind, cake, cream, or books, and the literary afternoon seemed to have sunk into oblivion.  The chairman of the Committee on Supplies, however, having gone into the cellar one morning to inspect the coal reserve, found himself obliged either to wade knee deep in water or to neglect his duty—­and, of course, being a sensible man, he chose the latter course.  He knew that in impecunious churches willing candidates for vestry honors were rare, and he, therefore, properly saved himself for future use.  Wading in water might have brought on pneumonia, and he was aware that there really isn’t any reason why a man should die for a cause if there is a reasonable excuse for his living in the same behalf.  But he went home angry.

“That cellar isn’t repaired yet,” he said to his wife.  “You’d think from the quantity of water there that ours was a Baptist church instead of the Church of England.”

“It’s a shame!” ejaculated his wife, who, having that morning finished embroidering a centre-piece for the dinner-table of the missionaries in Madagascar, was full of conscious rectitude.  “A perfect shame; who’s to blame, dear?”

“Peters,” replied the chairman.  “Same old story.  He makes all sorts of promises, and never carries ’em out.  He thinks that just because he pays a few bills we haven’t anything to say.  But he’ll find out his mistake.  I’ll call him down.  I’ll write him a letter he won’t forget in a hurry.  If he wasn’t willing to attend to the matter he had no business to accept the responsibility.  I’ll write and tell him so.”

And then, the righteous wrath of the chairman of the Committee on Supplies having expended itself in this explosion at his own dinner-table, that good gentleman forgot all about it, did not write the letter, and in fact never thought of the matter again until the next meeting of the vestry, when he suavely and jokingly inquired if the Committee on Leaks and Book Sales had any report to make.  To his surprise Mr. Peters responded at once.

“Yes, gentlemen,” he said, taking a check out of his pocket and handing it to the treasurer.  “The Committee on Leaks, Literature, and Lemonade reports that the leak is still in excellent condition and is progressing daily, while the Literature and Lemonade have produced the very gratifying sum of one hundred and thirty-seven dollars and sixty-three cents, a check for which I have just handed the treasurer.”

Even the rector looked surprised.

“Pretty good result, eh?” said Peters.  “You ask for ninety dollars and get one hundred and thirty-seven dollars and sixty-three cents.  You can spend a hundred dollars now on the leak and make a perfect leak of it, and have a balance of thirty-seven dollars and sixty-three cents to buy books for the Hottentots or to invest in picture-books for the Blind Asylum library.”