"Ministers have some expenses that other people don't," persisted Grant. "What kind of expenses, I'd like to know?" "They have to buy books and magazines, and entertain missionaries, and hire teams to go on exchanges." "That's something," admitted the deacon. "Maybe it amounts to twenty or thirty dollars a year." "More likely a hundred," said Grant. "That would be awful extravagant sinful waste. If I was a minister, I'd be more keerful." "Well, Deacon Gridley, I don't want to argue with you. I came to see if you hadn't collected some money for father. Mr. Tudor has sent in his bill, and he wants to be paid." "How much is it?" "Sixty-seven dollars and thirty-four cents." "You don't tell me!" said the deacon, scandalized. "You folks must be terrible extravagant." Grant hardly knew whether to be more vexed or amused. "If wanting to have enough to eat is extravagant," he said, "then we are." "You must live on the fat of the land, Grant." "We haven't any of us got the gout, nor are likely to have," answered Grant, provoked. "But let us come back to business. Have you got any money for father?" Now it so happened that Deacon Gridley had fifty dollars collected, but he thought he knew where he could let it out for one per cent, for a month, and he did not like to lose the opportunity. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Grant," he answered, "but folks are slow about payin' up, and--" "Haven't you got any money collected?" asked Grant, desperately. "I'll tell you what I'll do," said the deacon, with a bright idea. "I've got fifty dollars of my own--say for a month, till I can make collections."