There'd be two 'pinions
about a cracked bell, if the bell could hear itself.'
'Well, Mr Macey,' said poor Tookey, serious amidst the general
laughter, 'I undertook to partially fill up the office of parish-clerk
by Mr Crackenthorp's desire, whenever your infirmities should make you
unfitting; and it's one of the rights thereof to sing in the choir-
else why have you done the same yourself?
'Ah! but the old gentleman and you are two folks,' said Ben
Winthrop. 'The old gentleman's got a gift. Why, the Squire used to
invite him to take a glass, only to hear him sing the "Red Rovier";
didn't he, Mr Macey? It's a nat'ral gift. There's my little lad Aaron,
he's got a gift- he can sing a tune off straight, like a throstle. But
as for you, Master Tookey, you'd better stick to your "Amens": your
voice is well enough when you keep it up in your nose. It's your
inside as isn't right made for music: it's no better nor a hollow
stalk.'
This kind of unflinching frankness was the most piquant form of
joke to the company at the Rainbow, and Ben Winthrop's insult was felt
by everybody to have capped Mr Macey's epigram.
'I see what it is plain enough,' said Mr Tookey, unable to keep
cool any longer. 'There's a consperacy to turn me out o' the choir, as
I shouldn't share the Christmas money- that's where it is. But I shall
speak to Mr Crackenthorp; I'll not be put upon by no man.
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