THE COST OF KINDNESS

By Jerome K. Jerome

"Kindness, " argued little Mrs. Pennycoop, "costs nothing. "

"And, speaking generally, my dear, is valued precisely at costprice, " retorted Mr. Pennycoop, who, as an auctioneer of twenty years'experience, had enjoyed much opportunity of testing the attitude of thepublic towards sentiment. 

"I don't care what you say, George, " persisted his wife; "he may bea disagreeable, cantankerous old brute--I don't say he isn't. All thesame, the man is going away, and we may never see him again. "

"If I thought there was any fear of our doing so, " observed Mr. Pennycoop, "I'd turn my back on the Church of England to-morrow andbecome a Methodist. "

"Don't talk like that, George, " his wife admonished him, reprovingly;"the Lord might be listening to you. "

"If the Lord had to listen to old Cracklethorpe He'd sympathize withme, " was the opinion of Mr. Pennycoop. 

"The Lord sends us our trials, and they are meant for our good, "explained his wife. "They are meant to teach us patience. "

"You are not churchwarden, " retorted her husband; "you can get away fromhim. You hear him when he is in the pulpit, where, to a certain extent, he is bound to keep his temper. "

"You forget the rummage sale, George, " Mrs. Pennycoop reminded him; "tosay nothing of the church decorations. "

"The rummage sale, " Mr. Pennycoop pointed out to her, "occurs only oncea year, and at that time your own temper, I have noticed--"

"I always try to remember I am a Christian, " interrupted little Mrs. Pennycoop. "I do not pretend to be a saint, but whatever I say I amalways sorry for it afterwards--you know I am, George. "

"It's what I am saying, " explained her husband. "A vicar who hascontrived in three years to make every member of his congregation hatethe very sight of a church--well, there's something wrong about itsomewhere. "

Mrs. Pennycoop, gentlest of little women, laid her plump and stillpretty hands upon her husband's shoulders. "Don't think, dear, Ihaven't sympathized with you. You have borne it nobly. I have marvelledsometimes that you have been able to control yourself as you have done, most times; the things that he has said to you. "

Mr. Pennycoop had slid unconsciously into an attitude suggestive ofpetrified virtue, lately discovered. 

"One's own poor self, " observed Mr. Pennycoop, in accents of proudhumility--"insults that are merely personal one can put up with. Thougheven there, " added the senior churchwarden, with momentary descenttowards the plane of human nature, "nobody cares to have it hintedpublicly across the vestry table that one has chosen to collect fromthe left side for the express purpose of artfully passing over one's ownfamily. "

"The children have always had their three-penny-bits ready waiting intheir hands, " explained Mrs. Pennycoop, indignantly. 

"It's the sort of thing he says merely for the sake of making adisturbance, " continued the senior churchwarden. "It's the things hedoes I draw the line at. "

"The things he has done, you mean, dear, " laughed the little woman, withthe accent on the "has. " "It is all over now, and we are going to berid of him. I expect, dear, if we only knew, we should find it was hisliver. You know, George, I remarked to you the first day that he camehow pasty he looked and what a singularly unpleasant mouth he had. People can't help these things, you know, dear. One should look uponthem in the light of afflictions and be sorry for them. "

"I could forgive him doing what he does if he didn't seem to enjoy it, "said the senior churchwarden. "But, as you say, dear, he is going, andall I hope and pray is that we never see his like again. "

"And you'll come with me to call upon him, George, " urged kind littleMrs. Pennycoop. "After all, he has been our vicar for three years, andhe must be feeling it, poor man--whatever he may pretend--going awaylike this, knowing that everybody is glad to see the back of him. "

"Well, I sha'n't say anything I don't really feel, " stipulated Mr. Pennycoop. 

"That will be all right, dear, " laughed his wife, "so long as you don'tsay what you do feel. And we'll both of us keep our temper, " furthersuggested the little woman, "whatever happens. Remember, it will be forthe last time. "

Little Mrs. Pennycoop's intention was kind and Christianlike. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe would be quitting Wychwood-on-the-Heath thefollowing Monday, never to set foot--so the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpehimself and every single member of his congregation hoped sincerely--inthe neighbourhood again. Hitherto no pains had been taken on either sideto disguise the mutual joy with which the parting was looked forwardto. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, M. A. , might possibly have beenof service to his Church in, say, some East-end parish of unsavouryreputation, some mission station far advanced amid the hordes ofheathendom. There his inborn instinct of antagonism to everybody andeverything surrounding him, his unconquerable disregard for otherpeople's views and feelings, his inspired conviction that everybody buthimself was bound to be always wrong about everything, combined withdetermination to act and speak fearlessly in such belief, might havefound their uses. In picturesque little Wychwood-on-the-Heath, among theKentish hills, retreat beloved of the retired tradesman, the spinsterof moderate means, the reformed Bohemian developing latent instinctstowards respectability, these qualities made only for scandal anddisunion. 

For the past two years the Rev. Cracklethorpe's parishioners, assistedby such other of the inhabitants of Wychwood-on-the-Heath as hadhappened to come into personal contact with the reverend gentleman, had sought to impress upon him, by hints and innuendoes difficult tomisunderstand, their cordial and daily-increasing dislike of him, bothas a parson and a man. Matters had come to a head by the determinationofficially announced to him that, failing other alternatives, adeputation of his leading parishioners would wait upon his bishop. Thisit was that had brought it home to the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe that, as the spiritual guide and comforter of Wychwood-on-the Heath, he hadproved a failure. The Rev. Augustus had sought and secured the care ofother souls. The following Sunday morning he had arranged to preach hisfarewell sermon, and the occasion promised to be a success from everypoint of view. Churchgoers who had not visited St. Jude's for monthshad promised themselves the luxury of feeling they were listening tothe Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe for the last time. The Rev. AugustusCracklethorpe had prepared a sermon that for plain speaking anddirectness was likely to leave an impression. The parishioners of St. Jude's, Wychwood-on-the-Heath, had their failings, as we all have. TheRev. Augustus flattered himself that he had not missed out a single one, and was looking forward with pleasurable anticipation to the sensationthat his remarks, from his "firstly" to his "sixthly and lastly, " werelikely to create. 

What marred the entire business was the impulsiveness of little Mrs. Pennycoop. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, informed in his study on theWednesday afternoon that Mr. And Mrs. Pennycoop had called, entered thedrawing-room a quarter of an hour later, cold and severe; and, withoutoffering to shake hands, requested to be informed as shortly as possiblefor what purpose he had been disturbed. Mrs. Pennycoop had had herspeech ready to her tongue. It was just what it should have been, and nomore. 

It referred casually, without insisting on the point, to the dutyincumbent upon all of us to remember on occasion we were Christians;that our privilege it was to forgive and forget; that, generallyspeaking, there are faults on both sides; that partings should nevertake place in anger; in short, that little Mrs. Pennycoop and George, her husband, as he was waiting to say for himself, were sorry foreverything and anything they may have said or done in the past to hurtthe feelings of the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, and would like to shakehands with him and wish him every happiness for the future. The chillingattitude of the Rev. Augustus scattered that carefully-rehearsed speechto the winds. It left Mrs. Pennycoop nothing but to retire in chokingsilence, or to fling herself upon the inspiration of the moment and makeup something new. She choose the latter alternative. 

At first the words came halting. Her husband, man-like, had desertedher in her hour of utmost need and was fumbling with the door-knob. Thesteely stare with which the Rev. Cracklethorpe regarded her, insteadof chilling her, acted upon her as a spur. It put her on her mettle. Heshould listen to her. She would make him understand her kindly feelingtowards him if she had to take him by the shoulders and shake it intohim. At the end of five minutes the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, without knowing it, was looking pleased. At the end of another five Mrs. Pennycoop stopped, not for want of words, but for want of breath. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe replied in a voice that, to his ownsurprise, was trembling with emotion. Mrs. Pennycoop had made his taskharder for him. He had thought to leave Wychwood-on-the-Heath without aregret. The knowledge he now possessed, that at all events one member ofhis congregation understood him, as Mrs. Pennycoop had proved to him sheunderstood him, sympathized with him--the knowledge that at leastone heart, and that heart Mrs. Pennycoop's, had warmed to him, wouldtransform what he had looked forward to as a blessed relief into alasting grief. 

Mr. Pennycoop, carried away by his wife's eloquence, added a few haltingwords of his own. It appeared from Mr. Pennycoop's remarks that he hadalways regarded the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe as the vicar of hisdreams, but misunderstandings in some unaccountable way will arise. TheRev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, it appeared, had always secretly respectedMr. Pennycoop. If at any time his spoken words might have conveyedthe contrary impression, that must have arisen from the poverty of ourlanguage, which does not lend itself to subtle meanings. 

Then following the suggestion of tea, Miss Cracklethorpe, sister to theRev. Augustus--a lady whose likeness to her brother in all respectswas startling, the only difference between them being that while he wasclean-shaven she wore a slight moustache--was called down to grace theboard. The visit was ended by Mrs. Pennycoop's remembrance that it wasWilhelmina's night for a hot bath. 

"I said more than I intended to, " admitted Mrs. Pennycoop to George, herhusband, on the way home; "but he irritated me. "

Rumour of the Pennycoops' visit flew through the parish. Other ladiesfelt it their duty to show to Mrs. Pennycoop that she was not the onlyChristian in Wychwood-on-the-Heath. Mrs. Pennycoop, it was feared, mightbe getting a swelled head over this matter. The Rev. Augustus, withpardonable pride, repeated some of the things that Mrs. Pennycoop hadsaid to him. Mrs. Pennycoop was not to imagine herself the only personin Wychwood-on-the-Heath capable of generosity that cost nothing. Otherladies could say graceful nothings--could say them even better. Husbandsdressed in their best clothes and carefully rehearsed were brought into grace the almost endless procession of disconsolate parishionershammering at the door of St. Jude's parsonage. Between Thursday morningand Saturday night the Rev. Augustus, much to his own astonishment, hadbeen forced to the conclusion that five-sixths of his parishioners hadloved him from the first without hitherto having had opportunity ofexpressing their real feelings. 

The eventful Sunday arrived. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe had beenkept so busy listening to regrets at his departure, assurances ofan esteem hitherto disguised from him, explanations of seemingdiscourtesies that had been intended as tokens of affectionate regard, that no time had been left to him to think of other matters. Not tillhe entered the vestry at five minutes to eleven did recollection of hisfarewell sermon come to him. It haunted him throughout the service. To deliver it after the revelations of the last three days would beimpossible. It was the sermon that Moses might have preached to Pharaohthe Sunday prior to the exodus. To crush with it this congregation ofbroken-hearted adorers sorrowing for his departure would be inhuman. The Rev. Augustus tried to think of passages that might be selected, altered. There were none. From beginning to end it contained not asingle sentence capable of being made to sound pleasant by any ingenuitywhatsoever. 

The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe climbed slowly up the pulpit stepswithout an idea in his head of what he was going to say. The sunlightfell upon the upturned faces of a crowd that filled every corner ofthe church. So happy, so buoyant a congregation the eyes of the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe had never till that day looked down upon. Thefeeling came to him that he did not want to leave them. That theydid not wish him to go, could he doubt? Only by regarding them as acollection of the most shameless hypocrites ever gathered togetherunder one roof. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe dismissed the passingsuspicion as a suggestion of the Evil One, folded the neatly-writtenmanuscript that lay before him on the desk, and put it aside. He hadno need of a farewell sermon. The arrangements made could easily bealtered. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe spoke from his pulpit for thefirst time an impromptu. 

The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe wished to acknowledge himself in thewrong. Foolishly founding his judgment upon the evidence of a fewmen, whose names there would be no need to mention, members ofthe congregation who, he hoped, would one day be sorry for themisunderstandings they had caused, brethren whom it was his dutyto forgive, he had assumed the parishioners of St. Jude's, Wychwood-on-the-Heath, to have taken a personal dislike to him. Hewished to publicly apologize for the injustice he had unwittingly doneto their heads and to their hearts. He now had it from their own lipsthat a libel had been put upon them. So far from their wishing hisdeparture, it was self-evident that his going would inflict upon thema great sorrow. With the knowledge he now possessed of the respect--onemight almost say the veneration--with which the majority of thatcongregation regarded him--knowledge, he admitted, acquired somewhatlate--it was clear to him he could still be of help to them in theirspiritual need. To leave a flock so devoted would stamp him as anunworthy shepherd. The ceaseless stream of regrets at his departure thathad been poured into his ear during the last four days he had decidedat the last moment to pay heed to. He would remain with them--on onecondition. 

There quivered across the sea of humanity below him a movement thatmight have suggested to a more observant watcher the convulsiveclutchings of some drowning man at some chance straw. But the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe was thinking of himself. 

The parish was large and he was no longer a young man. Let them providehim with a conscientious and energetic curate. He had such a one in hismind's eye, a near relation of his own, who, for a small stipend thatwas hardly worth mentioning, would, he knew it for a fact, accept thepost. The pulpit was not the place in which to discuss these matters, but in the vestry afterwards he would be pleased to meet such members ofthe congregation as might choose to stay. 

The question agitating the majority of the congregation during thesinging of the hymn was the time it would take them to get outsidethe church. There still remained a faint hope that the Rev. AugustusCracklethorpe, not obtaining his curate, might consider it due to hisown dignity to shake from his feet the dust of a parish generous insentiment, but obstinately close-fisted when it came to putting itshands into its pockets. 

But for the parishioners of St. Jude's that Sunday was a day ofmisfortune. Before there could be any thought of moving, the Rev. Augustus raised his surpliced arm and begged leave to acquaint them withthe contents of a short note that had just been handed up to him. Itwould send them all home, he felt sure, with joy and thankfulness intheir hearts. An example of Christian benevolence was among them thatdid honour to the Church. 

Here a retired wholesale clothier from the East-end of London--a short, tubby gentleman who had recently taken the Manor House--was observed toturn scarlet. 

A gentleman hitherto unknown to them had signalled his advent among themby an act of munificence that should prove a shining example to all richmen. Mr. Horatio Copper--the reverend gentleman found some difficulty, apparently, in deciphering the name. 

"Cooper-Smith, sir, with an hyphen, " came in a thin whisper, the voiceof the still scarlet-faced clothier. 

Mr. Horatio Cooper-Smith, taking--the Rev. Augustus felt confident--anot unworthy means of grappling to himself thus early the hearts of hisfellow-townsmen, had expressed his desire to pay for the expense of acurate entirely out of his own pocket. Under these circumstances, there would be no further talk of a farewell between the Rev. AugustusCracklethorpe and his parishioners. It would be the hope of the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe to live and die the pastor of St. Jude's. 

A more solemn-looking, sober congregation than the congregation thatemerged that Sunday morning from St. Jude's in Wychwood-on-the-Heath hadnever, perhaps, passed out of a church door. 

"He'll have more time upon his hands, " said Mr. Biles, retired wholesaleironmonger and junior churchwarden, to Mrs. Biles, turning the cornerof Acacia Avenue--"he'll have more time to make himself a curse and astumbling-block. "

"And if this 'near relation' of his is anything like him--"

"Which you may depend upon it is the Case, or he'd never have thought ofhim, " was the opinion of Mr. Biles. 

"I shall give that Mrs. Pennycoop, " said Mrs. Biles, "a piece of my mindwhen I meet her. "

But of what use was that?