The Argosy — page 20: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

8 The Village Blacksmith. was, no doubt, tired when at last her turn came, but there was very little meekness about her. Inwardly she was boiling with anger, outwardly she was calm and cool, as she boldly entered the class- room in which the meeting was held. Mr. Ryot Tempest was supported on the right by a neighbouring squire ; a jovial, easy-going man, fond of a joke; on the left by a maiden lady of uncertain age, with evangelical views and a very strict sense of propriety, touched with a secret admiration for her spiritual pastor. Two other gentlemen, and a widow in permanent weeds, made up the committee. They occupied one side of a long table. Mr. Ryot Tempest was the central figure, and, though mounted on a high chair, looked absurdly small when confronted by Mrs. Canter in cheap crape and widow’s mourning, who, with a child on each side of her, advanced to the table and took up her position immediately facing the Rector. She was an enormous woman of about five-and-forty, nearly six feet high and proportionately broad. She was as big for a woman as her brother Reuben was for a man; but, while he was muscular, she was fat; and her portly figure and imposing presence were sufi- cient of themselves to strike terror into the heart of a little nervous man like Mr. Ryot Tempest. When we add that the Rector was refined, sensitive and easily shocked, whilst Mrs. Canter would have been vulgar had her father been a duke, was aware of the Rector's tenderest places and certainly had no intention of sparing him, and had a sublime disregard for conventional propriety, the reader will not deny that Mr. Ryot Tempest had reason to feel uneasy. Mrs. Canter did not even accord him his due prerogative of open- ing the battle, for, before he had time to speak, she attacked him. ‘What do you mean by keeping me waiting here an hour-and-a- half on ironing-day, Mr. Tempest ?” Mrs. Canter always ignored the Rector’s first name, though per- fectly aware that few things annoyed him more. “IT was under the impression this was Thursday,” said Mr. Ryot Tempest in a dignified tone, fidgeting nervously with the pen-tray in front of him. “To be sure it is, sir; and Thursday is ironing-day ; this boy of mine, half-witted as he is, knows that,” said Mrs. Canter scornfully, pointing toa little boy just able to walk at her side, who seemed to be suffering from water on the brain. ‘Indeed? Well, I am very sorry to see you before me again, Mrs. Canter ” began the Kector. ‘‘Sorry! Then why did you send for me, sir? You can’t be half so sorry to see me as I am to come, with two dozen shirts waiting to be ironed at home; eight or nine of them yours, too, Mr. Tempest.” Mr. Tempest grew very red, upset the pen-tray, and coughed nervously at this allusion to his linen, whilst the maiden lady on his left blushed crimson. conniclooolkks CO