A Nine Day's Wonder by B.M. Croker — Read

After the concert came a day of reckoning; that is to say, a winding up of the financial part of the performance. The parish complacently expected a substantial sum for coal and blankets, tea and sugar. Boots? Certainly there would be boots; and they were badly wanted. The simple folk had made their calculation something after this fashion: three hundred shillings was fifteen pounds, anyhow; the room was free. Take an average of five shillings all round, was not that seventy-five pounds? The neighbourhood nodded, and grinned, and figuratively rubbed its hands. But unfortunately the neighbourhood had reckoned without Mrs. Doran and her little bills for carting, hiring, lighting, decorations, printing, and refreshments -- the amount came to £57 11_s._ 6_d._ -- and when she handed the small balance to the Rector and the Rev. Father Daly, their countenances expressed the blankest dismay. The lady was in her own house, entrenched in a business-like attitude behind her writing-table, as she tendered the cheque with an air of bold assurance, not unflavoured with patronage. For a moment there was an awful silence. Mr. West took the bit of paper, stared at it as if he could not credit his faculties, cleared his throat, and passed it on to the priest.

Father Daly became red in the face (he was a man of full habit and of somewhat impetuous temper). He spoke at last, in his deep rich brogue.