Micah Clarke by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle — Read

Within the town-hall all was bustle and turmoil. At one side behind a / low table covered with green baize sat two scriveners with great rolls / of paper in front of them. A long line of citizens passed slowly before / them, each in turn putting down a roll or bag of coins which was duly / noted by the receivers. A square iron-bound chest stood by their side, / into which the money was thrown, and we noted as we passed that it was / half full of gold pieces. We could not but mark that many of the givers / were men whose threadbare doublets and pinched faces showed that the / wealth which they were dashing down so readily must have been hoarded up / for such a purpose, at the cost of scanty fare and hard living. Most of / them accompanied their gift by a few words of prayer, or by some pithy / text anent the treasure which rusteth not, or the lending to the Lord. / The town clerk stood by the table giving forth the vouchers for each / sum, and the constant clack of his tongue filled the hall, as he read / aloud the names and amounts, with his own remarks between.

'Abraham Willis,' he shouted as we entered; 'put him down twenty-six / pounds and ten shillings. You shall receive ten per centum upon this / earth, Master Willis, and I warrant that it shall not be forgotten / hereafter. John Standish, two pounds. William Simons, two guineas. / Stand-fast Healing, forty-five pounds. That is a rare blow which you / have struck into the ribs of Prelacy, good Master Healing. Solomon / Warren, five guineas. James White, five shillings -- the widow's mite, / James! Thomas Bakewell, ten pounds. Nay, Master Bakewell, surely out of / three farms on the banks of Tone, and grazing land in the fattest part / of Athelney, you can spare more than this for the good cause. We shall / doubtless see you again. Alderman Smithson, ninety pounds. Aha! There is / a slap for the scarlet woman! A few more such and her throne shall be a / ducking-stool. We shall break her down, worthy Master Smithson, even as / Jehu, the son of Nimshi, broke down the house of Baal. ' So he babbled on / with praise, precept, and rebuke, though the grave and solemn burghers / took little notice of his empty clamour.