I entered just as Mr. Wheaton was explaining the object of the meeting.  “Gentlemen,” said he, suavely, “the Calvary Presbyterian Church, like most of its neighbors, has rather hard work to get along, financially.  Its income is not at all equal to its expenditures.  The consequence is we generally stand on the debtor side of the ledger.  As probably you know, there is a mortgage on the church of four thousand dollars.  The semi-annual interest is due on the first of next month.  There is, I think, no money in the treasury to meet it.”

Here he looked at the treasurer as if for confirmation, and that gentleman, a bald-headed, weak-face man, smiled a mournful smile, and shook his head feebly.

“The Board of Trustees,” continued the President, “have directed me to call this meeting and lay the matter before you.”

There was a slight pause—­a sort of expectant silence.  “It isn’t a large sum,” gently insinuated the President, “if divided among us all.  But, in some way, gentlemen, it must be raised.  It won’t do for us to be insolvent, you know.  A church can’t take the benefit of the bankrupt act, I believe, Mr. Laicus.”

Being thus appealed to, I responded with a question.  Was this mortgage interest all that the church owed?  No! the President thought not.  He believed there was a small floating debt beside.  “And to whom,” said I, “Mr. Treasurer, is this floating debt due?” The Treasurer looked to the President for an answer, and the President accepted his pantomimic hint.

“Most of it,” said he, “I believe, to the minister.  But I understand that he is in no special hurry for his money.  In fact,” continued he, blandly, “a debt that is due to the minister need never be a very serious burden to a church.  Nominally it is due to him, but really it is distributed around among the members of the church.  Part is due to the grocer, part to the tailor, part to the butcher, part to the dressmaker, and part is borrowed from personal friends.  I lent the parson twenty-five dollars myself last week.  But mortgage interest is another matter.  That, you know, must be provided for.”

“And pray,” said I, for I happened to know the parson did need the money, “how much is the pastor’s salary?  And how much of it is overdue?”

“Well,” said the President, “I suppose his salary is about—­two thousand dollars.  Yes,” continued he, thoughtfully, somewhat affectionately playing with his gold watch-chain, “it must net him fully that amount.”

I was wondering what this “about” meant, and whether the minister did not have a fixed salary, when Deacon Goodsole broke in abruptly with, “It’s twelve hundred dollars a year!”