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CHAPTER XXIII
HEPSEY CALLS A MEETING

For the next few days Hepsey’s mind worked in unfamiliar channels, for her nature was that of a benevolent autocrat, and she had found herself led by circumstances into a situation demanding the prowess and elasticity of the diplomat. To begin with, she must risk a gamble at the meeting: if the spiritual yeast did not rise in old Bascom, as she hoped it would, and crown her strategy with success, she would have to fall back on belligerent tactics, and see if it were not possible to get his duty 284 out of him by threatened force of public opinion: and she knew that, with his obstinacy, it would be touch and go on which side of the fence he would fall in a situation of that kind—dependent, in fact, upon the half turn of a screw, more or less, for the result. Furthermore, she concluded that beyond the vaguest hint of her call on Bascom and the object of the meeting, she could not show her hand to Maxwell; for he would feel it his duty to step in and prevent the possibility of any such open breach as failure on Hepsey’s part would probably make in the parish solidarity. For once she must keep her own counsel—except for Jonathan, whose present infatuated condition made him an even safer and more satisfactory source of “advice” than he normally was. But the evening before the meeting, as he sat on Hepsey’s porch, he began to experience qualms, perhaps in his capacity as Junior Warden. But Hepsey turned upon him relentlessly:

“Now see here! You know I don’t start somethin’ unless I can see it through; and if it means a scrap, so much the better. Next to a good revival, a good hard scrap in a stupid parish has a real spiritual value. It stimulates the circulation, increases the appetite, gives people somethin’ to think about, and does a lot of good where peaceful ways would 285 fail. The trouble with us is that we’ve always been a sight too peaceful. If I’ve got to do it, I’m goin’ to make a row, a real jolly row that’ll make some people wish they’d never been born. No-no-no! Don’t you try to interfere. We’ve come to a crisis, and I’m goin’ to meet it. Don’t you worry until I begin to holler for first aid to the injured. A woman can’t vote for a vestryman, though women form the bulk of the congregation, and do most all of the parish work; and the whole church’d go to smithereens if it weren’t for the women. But there’s one thing a woman can always do: She can talk. They say that talk is cheap; but sometimes it’s a mighty expensive article, if it’s the right kind; and maybe the men will have to settle the bills. I’m going to talk; perhaps you think that’s nothing new. But you don’t know how I can talk when once I get my dander up. Somebody’s goin’ to sit up and pay attention this time. Bascom’ll conclude to preside at the meetin’; whichever way he means to act; and I’ve fixed it so Maxwell will be engaged on other duties. No; go ’way. I don’t want to see you around here again until the whole thing’s over.”

“All right Hepsey, all right. I guess if it goes through the way you want you’ll be that set up you’ll be wantin’ to marry old Bascom ’stead of me,” 286 chuckled Jonathan, as the lady of his choice turned to enter the house.

She faced round upon him as she reached the door, her features set with grim determination:

“If I get the whole caboodle, bag and baggage, from the meetin’ and from Bascom, there’s no knowin’ but what I’ll send for the parson and be married right there and then. There isn’t a thing I could think of, in the line of a real expensive sacrifice, that’d measure up as compensation for winnin’ out—not even marryin’ you, Jonathan Jackson.”

So Hepsey laid down lines for control of the meeting, ready with a different variety of expedients, from point to point in its progress, as Sylvester Bascom’s attitude at the time might necessitate. For she felt very little anxiety as to her ability to carry the main body of the audience along with her.

The night of the meeting the Sunday School Room, adjacent to the church, was filled full to a seat at least a quarter of an hour before the time announced for the meeting. Hepsey had provided herself with a chair in the center of the front row, directly facing the low platform to be occupied by the chairman. Her leather bag hung formidably on one arm, and a long narrow blank book was laid on her lap. She took little notice of her surroundings, and her anxiety 287 was imperceptible, as she thrummed with a pencil upon the book, glancing now and then at the side door, watching for Bascom’s entrance. The meeting buzzed light conversation, as a preliminary. Had she miscalculated on the very first move? Was he going to treat the whole affair with lofty disdain? As the hour struck, dead silence reigned in the room, expectant; and Jonathan, who sat next her, fidgeted nervously.

“Five minutes’ grace, and that’s all; if he’s not here by then, it’ll be up to you to call the meetin’ to order,” whispered Hepsey.

“Sakes!” hissed the terrified Junior Warden, “you didn’t say nothin’ about that, Hepsey,” he protested.

She leveled a withering glance at him, and was about to reduce him to utter impotence by some scathing remark, when both were startled by a voice in front of them, issuing from “the chair.” Silently the Senior Warden had entered, and had proceeded to open the meeting. His face was set and stern, and his voice hard and toneless. No help from that quarter, Hepsey mentally recorded.

“As the rector of this parish is not able to be present I have been asked to preside at this meeting. I believe that it was instigated—that is suggested, by some of the ladies who believe that there are some 288 matters of importance which need immediate attention, and must be presented to the congregation without delay. I must beg to remind these ladies that the Wardens and Vestrymen are the business officers of the church; and it seems to my poor judgment that if any business is to be transacted, the proper way would be for the Vestry to take care of it. However, I have complied with the request and have undertaken to preside, in the absence of the rector. The meeting is now open for business.”

Bascom sat down and gazed at the audience, but with a stare so expressionless as gave no further index to his mood. For some time there was a rather painful silence; but at last Hepsey Burke arose and faced about to command the audience.

“Brethren and sisters,” she began, “a few of us women have made up our minds that it’s high time that somethin’ was done towards payin’ our rector what we owe him, and that we furnish him with a proper house to live in.”

At this point, a faint murmur of applause interrupted the speaker, who replied: “There. There. Don’t be too quick. You won’t feel a bit like applaudin’ when I get through. It’s a burnin’ shame and disgrace that we owe Mr. Maxwell about two hundred dollars, which means a mighty lot to him, 289 because if he was paid in full every month he would get just about enough to keep his wife and himself from starvin’ to death. I wasn’t asked to call this meetin’; I asked the rector to, and I asked the Senior Warden to preside. And I told the rector that some of us—both men and women—had business to talk about that wasn’t for his ears. For all he knows, we’re here to pass a vote of censure on him. The fact is that we have reached the point where somethin’ has got to be done right off quick; and if none of the Vestrymen do it, then a poor shrinkin’ little woman like myself has got to rise and mount the band wagon. I’m no woman’s rights woman, but I have a conscience that’ll keep me awake nights until I have freed my mind.”

Here Hepsey paused, and twirling her pencil between her lips, gazed around at her auditors who were listening with breathless attention. Then she suddenly exclaimed with suppressed wrath, and in her penetrating tones:

“What is the matter with you men, anyway? You’d have to pay your butcher, or your baker, or your grocer, whether you wanted to or not. Then why in the name of conscience don’t you pay your parson? Certainly religion that don’t cost nothin’ is worse than nothin’. I’ll tell you the reason why you don’t 290 support your parson: It’s just because your rector’s a gentleman, and can’t very well kick over the traces, or balk, or sue you, even if you do starve him. So you, prosperous, big-headed men think that you can sneak out of it. Oh, you needn’t shuffle and look mad; you’re goin’ to get the truth for once, and I had Johnny Mullins lock the front door before I began.”

The whole audience responded to this sally with a laugh, but the speaker relented not one iota. “Then when you’ve smit your rector on one cheek you quote the Bible to make him think he ought to turn his overcoat also.” Another roar. “There: you don’t need to think I’m havin’ a game. I’m not through yet. Now let’s get right down to business. We owe our rector a lot of money, and he is livin’ in a tent because we neglected to pay the interest on the rectory mortgage held by the Senior Warden of our church. Talkin’ plain business, and nothin’ else, turned him out of house and home, and we broke our business contract with him. Yes we did! And now you know it.

“Some of us have been sayin’—and I was one of ’em till Mr. Maxwell corrected me—that it was mean of Mr. Bascom to turn the rector and his wife out of their house. But business is business, and until we’ve paid the last cent of our contributions, we 291 haven’t any right to throw stones at anyone. Wait till we’ve done our part, for that! We’ve been the laughing stock of the whole town because of our pesky meanness. That tent of ours has stuck out on the landscape like a horse fly on a pillow sham.

“It’s not my business to tell how the rector and his wife have had to economize and suffer, to get along at all; or how nice and uncomplainin’ they’ve been through it all. They wouldn’t want me to say anythin’ of that; sportsmen they are, both of ’em. The price of food’s gone up, and the rector’s salary gone down like a teeter on a log.

“Now, as I remarked before, let’s get right down to business. The only way to raise that money is to raise it! There’s no use larkin’ all ’round Robin Hood’s barn, or scampering round the mulberry bush any longer. I don’t care for fairs myself, where you have to go and buy somethin’ you don’t want, for five times what it’s worth, and call it givin’ to the Lord. And I don’t care to give a chicken, and then have to pay for eatin’ the same old bird afterwards. I won’t eat soda biscuit unless I know who made ’em. Church fairs are an invention of the devil to make people think they’re religious, when they are only mighty restless and selfish.

“The only thing to do is to put your hands in your 292 trousers pockets and pay, cash down, just as you would in any business transaction. And by cash, I don’t mean five cents in the plate Sunday, and a dollar for a show on Tuesday. We’ve none of us any business to pretend to give to the Lord what doesn’t cost a red cent, as the Bible says, somewheres. Now don’t get nervous. I’m going to start a subscription paper right here and now. It’ll save lots of trouble, and you ought to jump at the chance. You’ll be votin’ me a plated ice-water pitcher before we get through, for bein’ so good to you—just as a little souvenir of the evenin’.”

A disjointed murmur of disapproval rose from sundry parts of the room at this summary way of meeting the emergency. Nelson, who had tried in vain to catch the eye of the chair, rose at a venture and remarked truculently:

“This is a most unusual proceeding, Mrs. Burke.”

The chair remained immobile—but Hepsey turned upon the foe like a flash of lightning.

“Precisely, Mr. Nelson. And we are a most unusual parish. I don’t claim to have any information gained by world-wide travel, but livin’ my life as I’ve found it here, in ths town, I’ve got to say, that this is the first time I ever heard of a church turnin’ its rector out of house and home, and refusin’ to give 293 him salary enough to buy food for his family. Maybe in the course of your professional travels this thing has got to be an everyday occurrence to you,—but there’s some of us here, that ’aint got much interest in such goings-on, outside of Durford.”

“You have no authority to raise money for the church; I believe the Warden will concur in that opinion?” and he bowed towards Bascom.

“That is a point for the meeting to decide,” he replied judicially, as Hepsey turned towards him.

“Seems to me,” continued Mrs. Burke, facing the audience, “that authority won’t fill the rector’s purse so well as cash. It’s awful curious how a church with six Vestrymen and two Wardens, all of them good business men—men that can squeeze money out of a monkey-wrench, and always get the best of the other fellow in a horse-trade, and smoke cigars enough to pay the rector’s whole salary—get limp and faint and find it necessary to fall back on talkin’ about ‘authority’ when any money is to be raised. What we want in the parish is not authority, but just everyday plain business hustle, the sort of hustle that wears trousers; and as we don’t seem to get that, the next best kind is the sort that wears skirts. I’d always rather that men shall do the public work than women; but if men won’t, women must. What we need right here in 294 Durford is a few full grown men who aren’t shirks or quitters, who can put up prayers with one hand while they put down the cash with the other; and I don’t believe the Lord ever laid it up against any man who paid first, and prayed afterwards.

“Now brethren, don’t all speak at once. I’m goin’ to start takin’ subscriptions. Who’s goin’ to head the list?”

A little withered old woman laboriously struggled to her feet, and in a high-pitched, quavering voice began:

“I’d like to give suthin’ towards the end in view. Our rector were powerful good to my Thomas when he had the brown kitties in his throat. He came to see him mos’ every day and read to him, and said prayers with him, and brought him papers and jelly. He certainly were powerful good to my Thomas; and once when Thomas had a fever our rector said that he thought that a bath would do my Thomas a heap of good, and he guessed he’d give him one. So I got some water in a bowl and some soap, and our rector he just took off his coat, and his vest, and his collar, and his cuffs, and our rector he washed Thomas, and he washed him, and he wa–”

“Well,” Hepsey interrupted, to stay the flow of eloquence, “so you’d like to pay for his laundry now, 295 would you Mrs. Sumner? Shall I put you down for two dollars? Good! Mrs. Sumner sets the ball rollin’ with two dollars. Who’ll be the next?”

As there was no response, Mrs. Burke glanced critically over the assembly until she had picked her man, and then announced:

“Hiram Mason, I’m sure you must be on the anxious bench?”

Hiram colored painfully as he replied:

“I don’t know as I am prepared to say what I can give, just at present, Mrs. Burke.”

“Well now let’s think about it a little. Last night’s Daily Bugle had your name in a list of those that gave ten dollars apiece at St. Bridget’s fair. I suppose the Irish trade’s valuable to a grocer like yourself; but you surely can’t do less for your own church? I’ll put you down for ten, though of course you can double it if you like.”

“No,” said Hiram, meditatively; “I guess ten’ll do.”

“Hiram Mason gives ten dollars. The Lord loveth a cheerful giver. Thanks, Hiram.”

Again there was a pause; and as no one volunteered, Hepsey continued:

“Sylvester Perkins, how much will you give?”

“I suppose I’ll give five dollars,” Sylvester responded, 296 before Mrs. Burke could have a chance to put him down for a larger sum. “But I don’t like this way of doin’ things a little bit. It’s not a woman’s place to hold up a man and rob him in public meetin’.”

“No, a woman usually goes through her husband’s pockets when he’s asleep, I suppose. But you see I’m not your wife. Thanks, Mr. Perkins: Mr. Perkins, five dollars,” she repeated as she entered his subscription in the book. “Next?” she called briskly.

“Mrs. Burke, I’ll give twenty dollars, if you think that’s enough,” called a voice from the back timidly.

Everyone turned to the speaker in some surprise. He was a delicate, slender fellow, evidently in bad health. He trembled nervously, and Mrs. Burke hesitated for an instant, between fear of hurting his feelings and letting him give more than she knew he could possibly afford.

“I am afraid you ought not to give so much, Amos. Let me put you down for five,” she said kindly. “We mustn’t rob Peter to pay Paul.”

“No, ma’am, put me down for twenty,” he persisted; and then burst forth—“and I wish it was twenty thousand. I’d do anything for Mr. Maxwell; I owe it to him, I tell you.”

The speaker hesitated a moment and wiped his 297 forehead with his handkerchief, and then continued slowly, and with obvious effort:

“Maybe you’ll think I am a fool to give myself away before a crowd like this, and I a member of the church; but the simple fact is that Mr. Maxwell saved my life once, when I was pretty near all in.”

Again the speaker stopped, breathing heavily, and there was absolute silence in the room. Regaining his courage, he continued: “Yes, he saved me, body and soul, and I guess I’ll tell the whole story. Most of you would have kicked me into the street or lodged me in jail; but he wasn’t that kind, thank God!

“I was clerking in the Post Office a while back, and I left town one night, suddenly. I’d been drinking some, and when I left, my accounts were two hundred dollars short. The thing was kept quiet. Only two men knew about it. Mr. Maxwell was one. He got the other man to keep his mouth shut, handed over the amount, and chased after me and made me come back with him and stay at his house for a while. Then he gave me some work and helped me to make a new start. He didn’t say a word of reproach, nor he didn’t talk religion to me. He just acted as if he cared a whole lot for me, and wanted to put me on my feet again.

“I didn’t know for a long time where Mr. Maxwell 298 got the money for me but after a while I discovered that he’d given a chattel mortgage on his books and personal belongings. Do you suppose that there’s anybody else in the world would have done that for me? It wasn’t only his giving me the money; it was finding that somebody trusted me and cared for me, who had no business to trust me, and couldn’t afford to trust me. That’s what saved me and kept me straight.

“I haven’t touched a drop since, and I never will. I’ve been paying my debt to him as quick as I can, and as far as money can pay it; but all the gold in the world wouldn’t even me up with him. I don’t know just why I’ve told all about it, but I guess it’s because I felt you ought to know the kind of a man the rector is; and I’m glad he isn’t here, or he’d never have let me give him away like this.”

Amos sat down, while the astonished gathering stared at him, the defaulter, who in a moment of gratitude had betrayed himself. The woman next to him edged a little farther away from him and watched him furtively, but he did not seem to care.

Under the stimulus of this confession, the feelings of the people quickly responded to the occasion, and a line soon formed, without further need of wit or eloquence on Hepsey’s part, to have their subscriptions 299 recorded. In half an hour, Mrs. Burke, whose face was glowing with pleasure—albeit she glanced anxiously from time to time towards old Mr. Bascom, in an endeavor to size up his mood and force his intentions—had written down the name of the last volunteer. She turned towards her audience:

“As I don’t want to keep you waitin’ here all night while I add up the subscriptions, I’ll ask the chairman to do it for me and let you know the result. He’s quicker at figurin’ than I am, I guess,” with which compliment, she smilingly handed the book to the Senior Warden. While the old man bent to his task, the room buzzed with low, excited conversation. Enough was already known of Bascom’s hostility to the rector, to make the meeting decidedly curious as to his attitude towards Hepsey’s remarks and the mortgage; and they knew him well enough to be aware that he would not allow that item in her speech to go unanswered, in some way or other.

All eyes rested upon the gaunt figure of the chairman, as he rose to his feet to announce the total of the subscription list. He cleared his throat, and looked down at Hepsey Burke; and Jonathan, as he squinted anxiously at Hepsey by his side, noticed that she sat with her eyes tight-closed, oblivious of the chairman’s glance. Jonathan looked hastily up at Bascom, 300 and noticed him shift his position a little nervously, as he cleared his throat again.

“The amount subscribed on this list, is two hundred and thirty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents,” he said. The loud applause was instantaneous, and Jonathan turned quickly to Hepsey, as he stamped his feet and clapped his hands.

“Thirty-seven thirty-five more than we owe him; Hepsey, you’ve done fine,” he chortled.

But Hepsey’s look was now riveted on the chairman, and except for a half-absent smile of pleasure, the keenest anxiety showed in her expression.

Bascom cleared his voice again, and then proceeded:

“Mrs. Burke informed you that the rector’s salary was in arrears to the extent of about two hundred dollars. It is now for this meeting to pass a formal resolution for the application of the amount subscribed to the object in view.”

Hepsey’s lips narrowed; not a cent was down on the list to the name of the Senior Warden; the debt was being paid without assistance from him.

“I presume I may put it to the meeting that the amount, when collected, be paid over to the rector by a committee formed for that purpose?” proceeded the chairman. 301

This resolution being duly seconded and carried, Bascom continued:

“Before we adjourn I request the opportunity to make a few remarks, in reply to Mrs. Burke’s observations concerning the ejection of the rector from the house which he occupied. She was good enough to spare my feelings by pointing out that from a business or legal point of view it was not I who was responsible for that act, but the parishioners, who, having purchased the rectory subject to a mortgage, had failed to meet the interest upon it. That is what Mrs. Burke said: what she did not say, and what none of you have said in public, though I reckon you’ve said it among yourselves, I will take upon myself to say for her and you.”

He paused—and every eye was fixed upon him and every mouth agape in paralysed astonishment: and the said features of Hepsey Burke were no exception to the rule.

“When,” continued Bascom evenly and urbanely, “the word went round that the interest on the mortgage had got behind, and the money must be collected for it, those concerned no doubt remarked easily: ‘Oh, I guess that’ll be all right. Bascom won’t worry about that; he don’t need it; anyway he can pay it to himself, for the parish, if he does.’” 302

There was an uncomfortable stirring of the audience at this shrewd thrust; but Hepsey could not contain herself, and laughed right out, clapping loudly.

“And yet I don’t mind saying that if I had thought of suggesting to anyone of you such a method of collecting interest due to you, you might have kicked some,” he commented dryly.

“At the next step, when I ultimately concluded to act upon my right to eject Mr. Maxwell from the rectory, I’ve no doubt that on all sides it was: ‘Well, did you ever know the likes of that? Turning the rector out of house and home! Well he’s a skinflint for fair!’”

He paused and watched the effect. This time his hearers sat absolutely motionless.

“And I agree with you,” he added presently, in a quiet voice: “I was a skinflint for fair!”

Almost Hepsey forgot herself so far as to clap thunderously: she caught her hands together just in time—recollecting that her demonstration would be taken too literally.

“But I would not have you misunderstand me: though it was for me to call myself a skinflint for that act, it was not for you to do so. You did so on wrong grounds. Those who in making money have been less successful than others, find it convenient to 303 leave all such obligations upon the shoulders of the richer man, and to say ‘it’s up to him; he can afford it.’ Is it any wonder that it makes the rich man sour on subscriptions and philanthropies? He has as much, or more, of inducement to apply his earnings and savings to his own ends and pleasures; why then, is it not up to all, in their own proportions to meet social needs? A good many years of such meanness among his neighbors makes even a rich man sour and mean, I guess. And that’s what it made me—and though that isn’t a justification of my act, it gave me as much right to call you skinflints as for you to call me: all except one of you, Hepsey Burke.”

The meeting quivered with tense excitement. What did it all mean? If a chicken had sneezed the whole gathering would have been dissolved in hysterics, it was so keyed up with a sense of the impending disclosure of a deep mystery. As for Hepsey, she sat motionless, though Jonathan believed that he caught sight of a tear glistening in its descent.

“Hepsey Burke had a right to call me a skinflint, because she knew what none of you knew; but because it was private knowledge she wouldn’t make use of it against me—not unless she couldn’t have done what was right any other way. And now I’m going to tell you what she knew: 304

“The rectory was my wife’s property, and she intended it as a gift to the parish, for the rectory of the church. I was preparing the deeds of transfer, when she died—suddenly, as some of you remember,” his voice made heroic efforts to keep clear and steady, “owing to her death before the transfer, that house passed to our daughter; and what I intended to do was to buy it of her and present it to the parish. I delayed, at first for good reasons. And I suppose as I got more and more lonesome and mixed less and less with people, I got sourer—and then I delayed from meanness. It would have been easy enough for me to buy it of my daughter, and she’d have been willing enough; but as I saw more and more put upon me, and less and less human recognition—I was ‘a rich man,’ and needed no personal sympathy or encouragement, it seemed—I held back. And I got so mean, I couldn’t make friends with the rector, even.”

He paused, and from the half smile on his face, and the hint of brightness that passed over his expression, the audience caught relief.

“I guess a good shaking up is good for a man’s liver: it cures a sour stomach—and as there are those that say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, perhaps it cures a sour heart. I got my shaking 305 up all right, as you know; and perhaps that’s been working a cure on me. Or perhaps it was the quiet ministrations of that little Mrs. Betty of yours”—applause—“or the infusion of some of the rector’s blood in my veins (he let himself be bled to keep me alive, after I’d lost what little blood I had, as you probably have never heard)”—shouts of applause—“or possibly what cured me was a little knitting-visit that Hepsey Burke paid me the other day, and during which she dropped some home-truths: I can’t say.

“Before I decided what I would do about the rectory, I wanted to see what you would do, under Mrs. Burke’s guidance, this evening. You’ve shouldered your share, as far as the rector’s salary is concerned. Well—I’ll add what I consider my fair share to that, fifty dollars. The arrears due on the mortgage interest is one hundred and twenty dollars. I shall hold you to your side of that bargain, to date. If you pay the rector the two hundred dollars due him on his salary, you will need to subscribe about another forty to make up the interest: that done, and paid to me, I will do my part, and present the rectory to the parish, in memory of my dear wife, as she desired.”

He sat down.

Hepsey rose and called out in a clear voice:

“He’s right; Mr. Bascom’s dead right; it’s up to 306 us to be business first, and clear ourselves of the debt on a business bargain; then we can accept the gift without too much worryin’.” And she sent a very friendly smile over to Bascom.

Again there was some cheering, in the midst of which Jonathan Jackson jumped to his feet beside Hepsey; and facing the room, with his arm through hers, he shouted:

“Hepsey Burke and me will make up the difference!”

Another cheer went up, and Hepsey’s face flamed scarlet amid the craning of necks and chaffing laughter—half puzzled, half understanding.

Sylvester Bascom rose to his feet, and there was silence. With assumed seriousness he addressed Hepsey, still standing:

“Mrs. Burke, so that it may be quite in order, do you endorse Mr. Jackson’s authority to speak for you in this matter?”

Every eye was turned upon them; but Hepsey could find not a word, so flabergasted was she by this sudden move of Jonathan’s. Jonathan himself colored furiously, but stuck to his guns, and Hepsey’s arm:

“Well, to tell the truth,” he replied in a jaunty voice, “Hepsey Burke and me’s goin’ to be married 307 right now, so I guess we’ll combine our resources, like.”

This announcement gave the coup de grace to any further attempt at orderliness, and the room became a seething chorus of congratulatory greetings aimed at Hepsey and Jonathan, in the midst of which Sylvester Bascom slipped out unnoticed.