inspiration, when I was thinking of something altogether different. It flashed upon me in an instant: a good object, and a public occasion."
"Well?" I said, finding this explosive and electrical inspiration rather enigmatical.
"Why, you know, the Union chapel, over in the village, is in a languishing condition, and the ladies have been talking all summer about doing something for it, getting up something—a concert, or theatricals, or a dance, or something—and applying the proceeds to repainting and papering the visible church; it needs it dreadfully. But, of course, those things are not exactly religious, don't you know; and a fair is so much trouble; and such a bore, when you get the articles ready, even; and everybody feels swindled; and now people frown on raffles, so there is no use thinking of them. What you want is something striking. We did think of a parlor-reading, or perhaps ventriloquism; but the performers all charge so much that there wouldn't be anything left after paying expenses."
She seemed to expect some sort of prompting at this point; so I said, "Well?"
"Well," she repeated, "that is just where your Mr. Homos comes in."
