Tom could run down to the church and do so whenever he had time to
spare; for it was a simple little organ, provided with wind by the
action of the musician's feet; and he was independent, even of a
bellows-blower. Though if Tom had wanted one at any time, there was
not a man or boy in all the village, and away to the turnpike (tollman
included), but would have blown away for him till he was black in the
face.
Mr Pecksniff had no objection to music; not the least. He was tolerant
of everything; he often said so. He considered it a vagabond kind of
trifling, in general, just suited to Tom's capacity. But in regard
to Tom's performance upon this same organ, he was remarkably lenient,
singularly amiable; for when Tom played it on Sundays, Mr Pecksniff
in his unbounded sympathy felt as if he played it himself, and were a
benefactor to the congregation. So whenever it was impossible to devise
any other means of taking the value of Tom's wages out of him, Mr
Pecksniff gave him leave to cultivate this instrument. For which mark of
his consideration Tom was very grateful.
The afternoon was remarkably warm, and Mr Pecksniff had been strolling
a long way.
Pages:
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923