Mrs. Hallam was sitting in orotund silence, but seemed in
good humour. She asked him casually if he had enjoyed his Saturday
evening, and quite as casually damned the wandering cats that had played
havoc in her pantry. She remarked that leaving windows open was a poor
practice, even if hospitable in appearance, and nervous Mr. Pinton drank
his coffee in silent assent and then hurried off to the church where he
trod the organ pedals for a small salary's sake.
The following Friday was rehearsal night, and the organist left his
choir in a bad humour. His contralto had not attended, and as she was
the only artiste and the only good-looking girl of the lot, Pinton took
it into his head to become jealous. She had not paid the slightest
attention to him, so he could not attribute her absence to a personal
slight; but he felt aggrieved and vaguely irritated.
Pinton's musicianship was not profound. He had begun life as an organ
salesman. He manipulated the cabinet organ for impossible customers in
Wisconsin, and he came to New York because he was offered a better
chance.
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