She looked at her fingers; they were wet, so she put them beneath her apron, and extended her hand thus covered to receive the card, and nipped it through the integument of coarse linen, then turned and went in, leaving Saltren on the doorstep with the bucket. The soap she had prudently removed within, lest, while she was presenting the card, he might make off with the square. She was up to the dodges of such chaps. So, also, she shut the door behind her, lest he should make off with an overcoat or umbrella. A servant cannot be too careful in the suburbs of London. Presently she returned, re-opened the door, and asked Saltren to kindly step into the master’s study. Mr. James Welsh was just engaged in unfolding his morning’s paper preparatory to reading, or, rather, skimming it, when Jingles entered. “Hallo, young shaver!” exclaimed the uncle, laying aside the newspaper somewhat reluctantly. “This is sharp work, dropping in on me before I have had time allowed me to answer your letter. I only came home last night. It is like crossing the frontier simultaneously with declaration of war. If you had waited for my answer you would have saved yourself trouble and the cost of your ticket.” “There were reasons which made it necessary for me to leave at once.” “My dear boy, reasons are like eggs in a recipe for a pudding. The pudding is best with them; but it is good without. You wanted to come, and you enrich your coming with reasons. That is the sense of it.” “But, Uncle James, I have long felt a decided vocation for a political and literary life, and I have long chafed at the restraints——” “Young shaver, in the ministerial world—I mean the world of ministers of religion—there are also calls; but, curiously enough, only such are listened to when the call is from a salary of fifty to a hundred and fifty. I never yet heard of a pastor who listened to a call to leave one of a hundred for one of half that amount. But they jump like frogs when the call is t’other way. You should have learned wisdom from those apostles of light. You have, I fear, thrown up a lucrative situation for nothing. Like the dog in the fable dropped the piece of meat to bite at a shadow.” “I have no doubt,” said Jingles gravely, “that at first I shall not earn much; but I have some money laid by which will serve my necessities till I have made myself a name, and got an assured income.” “Made yourself a name! That is what no journalist ever does. Got an assured income! That comes late. You have not been through the mill.” “I have in my bag some articles I have touched off, leaders on important matters, of absorbing interest to the public.” “As what?” “Port Hamilton.” “The public don’t care a snap about that.” “The Eastern Question.” “About which you know nothing.” “The Irish Land Question.” “On which you are incompetent to form an opinion.” “Will you look at my articles?”