Wright seemed unable to proceed, except to say again, "I--
reproved him,"
"But," Dr. Lavendar protested, "you don't mean to tell me that Samuel,
just for a reproof, an unkind and unjust reproof, would--why, I cannot
believe it!"
"It was not unjust!" Benjamin Wright's melancholy eyes flamed angrily.
"I know, Samuel," said Dr. Lavendar. "He is obstinate; I've told him
so a hundred times. And he's conceited--so's everybody, more or less;
if in nothing else, we're conceited because we're not conceited. But
he's not a fool. So, whether he is right or not, I am sure he thinks
he had something more to complain of than a good blowing-up?"
"In a way," said the old man, examining his ridgy finger-nails and
speaking with a gasp, "he had. Slightly."
Dr. Lavendar's stern lip trembled with anxiety. "What?"
"I--chastised him; a little."
"You--_what_?"
Benjamin Wright nodded; the wrinkled pouches under his eyes grew dully
red. "My God!" he said plaintively; "think of that--a hasty moment!
Thirty-two years; my God! I--spanked him."
Dr. Lavendar opened his lips to speak, but found no words.
"And he was offended! Offended? What right had he to be offended?
_I_ was the offended party. He went to a low theatre. Apparently
you see nothing wrong in that? Well, I've always said that every
parson had the making of an actor in him. It's a toss-up--the stage or
the pulpit.
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