Reverend Wimple seated himself behind his desk. He spread his arms wide and rested his hands at the edges of the desk blotter. Beyond Miss Pettigrew he saw Lefty peeking through the doorway, and for a fraction of a second a cloud of annoyance came across his sunny face. Almost immediately, the cloud withdrew and Reverend Wimple beamed on Miss Pettigrew. “What can I do for you this beautiful morning?” he asked.
“You remember, Reverend Wimple, that we discussed the new Municipal Hospital a few days ago.”
The minister nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
“And you showed me the architect’s plans and the estimates.”
Reverend Wimple sighed. “Yes. Almost three million dollars. I don’t know how we’ll ever do it. The Ladies’ Aid has been a great help. White elephant sales. Cake sales. Card parties. Bingo. Lawn parties. But it isn’t enough. It just isn’t enough.” The minister shook his head sadly. “I don’t know if we ever will have enough.”
“Reverend Wimple,” said Miss Pettigrew, “since you first came to this town, you’ve done wonders. Everyone agrees about that. You’re a good, fine, honest man, interested in the people around you. You’re the first minister this town ever had who made me want to come to church.”
Reverend Wimple raised a disclaiming hand. “Oh, Miss Pettigrew...”
“No, it’s true. I hate to say anything bad about a man of the cloth, but as far as the other ministers we’ve had here were concerned, I wasn’t a person at all. I was just one big donation. You’re different. You’re completely unselfish. And you see people in terms of themselves, not in terms of the collection plate.”
“Oh, Miss Pettigrew, you’re far, far too harsh.”
She subsided somewhat. “Perhaps. But I’m right about you. This hospital you’re trying to build. That’s the kind of thing I mean. So completely humane, unselfish. The ministers before you tried to raise building funds, too. But not for hospitals. They all wanted to redecorate the church or some da — some such thing.”
“I wouldn’t call redecorating a church a selfish act, Miss Pettigrew,” the minister said gently.
“Still, there’s a difference. Well, maybe you won’t like this — I know how modest you are — but I’ve written the Archbishop about you.”
Reverend Wimple’s eyes widened for just a fraction of a second. Then he gripped his chair arms and fought with his facial muscles. They wanted to move his face from pleased serenity to hysterical shock, but he wouldn’t let them. He continued to look bland and pleasant, though he was fighting too hard to be able to speak.
Miss Pettigrew continued, “I wrote him and told him all the wonderful things you’ve done since you arrived in Lanesville. And I told him about the hospital, and that I was going to make a donation.”
“You — wrote the Archbishop? I don’t know what to say.” Reverend Wimple looked embarrassed, modest and boyishly pleased. “I hope you didn’t overpraise me.”
“I really don’t believe that’s possible.” Miss Pettigrew reached for her purse. Opening it, she took out the cigarette package. “I wrote to the Archbishop that I was making a donation for your hospital, what I was donating and why. And I told him that what this world needs is a few more ministers like you Reverend Wimple.”
The minister ducked his head, blushing. “Please, Miss Pettigrew. No more flattery.”
She was opening the cigarette box, pulling cotton out of it. Finally, a small, glittering stone appeared. Miss Pettigrew picked it up gingerly and set it down on Reverend Wimple’s desk. “Here,” she said, “is my donation. The Pettigrew diamond.”
The Reverend held tightly to his chair arms and gazed at the gleaming stone in the center of his green desk blotter. He could not speak.
“It is worth,” said Miss Pettigrew, “one million, three hundred thousand dollars. It is one of the twelve largest diamonds in the world. I hope it will help you get your hospital.”
“Miss Pettigrew,” gasped the minister, “I’m speechless. I’m overwhelmed.” He surged out of his chair, his face a portrait of pure joy. “Oh, Miss Pettigrew! The hospital — We will have it! We will have our hospital!” Rounding his desk, he held her hands tightly. “Thank you,” he said softly, and it seemed he might cry from happiness. “Thank you, you dear lady.”
Miss Pettigrew felt her own throat tightening. She looked away and pulled her hands out of his grip. “Nonsense. A donation. It’s a worthy cause.” Hastily, she rose and gathered up her purse. She put the cigarette package and the cotton on his desk. “You can keep it in that. I–I have to shop.”
Reverend Wimple stopped her at the door. “Miss Pettigrew,” he said, “I want you to know how much I appreciate — how much this means to me.”
“I know. Yes, thank you.” Then it occurred to her that it was silly of her to thank him. She was getting flustered, and Grace Pettigrew hated to be flustered. “I... good morning. I’ll find the door. You’d better put the diamond in a safe place. Good bye.” She hurried out into the sunlight, and Lefty slipped by the Reverend and leaned in awe over the diamond lying on the desk. “You got it,” he whispered. “She walked right in and handed it to you!”
“Beautiful,” said Joe Docker. “A masterpiece.” He looked at Lefty. “Lefty, I should have gone on the stage. I am Reverend Wimple.”
Lefty shoved the diamond into the cigarette box, packed cotton in after it, and said, “Let’s get packed and get outa here.”
Joe looked surprised. “We can’t leave yet.”
“What? Why not? We got the rock.”
“Lefty, be sensible. We leave now, sell the diamond to a fence, we get maybe forty per cent of its value. It’s hot, and the fence has to cut it up into smaller rocks. That’s a beautiful diamond. I’d hate to see it cut up. More than that, I’d hate to get a lousy forty per cent.”
“What else can we do?”
“I’m about to sit down and write a letter to a reputable diamond dealer in New York. I’m the Reverend Mister Amadeus Wimple, and I was given the Pettigrew diamond as a donation. It’s for sale. At full value. After he buys the diamond, then we can leave.”
Lefty shook his head. “Nix, Joe. We can’t do it. I was out there listening. The old broad wrote the Archbishop. He knows he didn’t send any Reverend Wimple down here. There’ll be cops all over the place.”
“Maybe. We’ll just have to take the chance.”
“The chance?”
“Lefty, a guy in the Archbishop’s position, he’s got a secretary. Maybe two secretaries. They’re the ones who read all the mail. There’s, a good chance the Archbishop will never even see that letter. And if he does, will he remember he never sent a minister named Wimple out to this two-bit town church? He didn’t remember the church needing a minister, did he?”
“Joe, I hate jail.”
The Reverend Mister Amadeus Wimple folded his hands across his belly. “Archibald,” he said, “I’d like some coffee. I’m going to write a diamond merchant now. Would you make the coffee for me?”
Lefty considered further argument, but finally gave up with a shrug. He slumped out of the room, headed for the kitchen. Joe Docker opened the cigarette box and withdrew the diamond. He held it in the palm of his hand, gazing lovingly at it. Finally, he put it away again, sat down behind his desk, and wrote a letter.
Reverend Wimple had been pacing back and forth in the front hall, going over his sermon for the coming Sunday, when the doorbell chimed the first line of “Rock Of Ages.” Opening the door, the Reverend found himself looking at a burly, crewcut, scrubbed-clean young man in clerical garb, and his first thought was, The legitimate replacement.