Brown rose as he finished speaking, and mixed himself a glass of whisky and water with the self-satisfied air of a benevolent man about to reward somebody for having done a good deed; and MacShaughnassy lifted up his voice and talked.

“I know a story bearing on the subject, too,” he said.  “It happened in a tiny Yorkshire village—­a peaceful, respectable spot, where folks found life a bit slow.  One day, however, a new curate arrived, and that woke things up considerably.  He was a nice young man, and, having a large private income of his own, was altogether a most desirable catch.  Every unmarried female in the place went for him with one accord.

“But ordinary feminine blandishments appeared to have no effect upon him.  He was a seriously inclined young man, and once, in the course of a casual conversation upon the subject of love, he was heard to say that he himself should never be attracted by mere beauty and charm.  What would appeal to him, he said, would be a woman’s goodness—­her charity and kindliness to the poor.

“Well, that set the petticoats all thinking.  They saw that in studying fashion plates and practising expressions they had been going upon the wrong tack.  The card for them to play was ‘the poor.’  But here a serious difficulty arose.  There was only one poor person in the whole parish, a cantankerous old fellow who lived in a tumble-down cottage at the back of the church, and fifteen able-bodied women (eleven girls, three old maids, and a widow) wanted to be ‘good’ to him.

“Miss Simmonds, one of the old maids, got hold of him first, and commenced feeding him twice a day with beef-tea; and then the widow boarded him with port wine and oysters.  Later in the week others of the party drifted in upon him, and wanted to cram him with jelly and chickens.

“The old man couldn’t understand it.  He was accustomed to a small sack of coals now and then, accompanied by a long lecture on his sins, and an occasional bottle of dandelion tea.  This sudden spurt on the part of Providence puzzled him.  He said nothing, however, but continued to take in as much of everything as he could hold.  At the end of a month he was too fat to get through his own back door.

“The competition among the women-folk grew keener every day, and at last the old man began to give himself airs, and to make the place hard for them.  He made them clean his cottage out, and cook his meals, and when he was tired of having them about the house, he set them to work in the garden.

“They grumbled a good deal, and there was a talk at one time of a sort of a strike, but what could they do?  He was the only pauper for miles round, and knew it.  He had the monopoly, and, like all monopolises, he abused his position.

“He made them run errands.  He sent them out to buy his ‘baccy,’ at their own expense.  On one occasion he sent Miss Simmonds out with a jug to get his supper beer.  She indignantly refused at first, but he told her that if she gave him any of her stuck-up airs out she would go, and never come into his house again.  If she wouldn’t do it there were plenty of others who would.  She knew it and went.