‘Well, if you put it in that light, I, of course, expect to be paid. As a fellow literary man, I would, of course, prefer to work for you for nothing; but you see, sir, one must live, and the fact is, I have a duty to discharge to my wife and family. A man who neglects them, you know, is worse than an infidel. I believe I have Scriptural authority for that statement?’ ‘I believe you have, sir.’ ‘Ah, yes, my dear sir, I thought a man of your knowledge and good sense would admit as much. You know me—my name is Roberts.’ ‘I can’t say that I do.’ ‘Well, that is a good one! Did you never read my poem on the death of Prince Albert?’ ‘I can’t say that I have.’ ‘Don’t you remember my celebrated speech at Little Pedlington in favour of the Society for the Equal Diffusion of Capital?’ ‘I can’t say that I ever heard of it.’ ‘Well, you do surprise me! How true it is that the world knows nothing of its greatest men! Surely you must have heard of my celebrated discussion with the great O’Toole in the Town Hall of Mudford on the rights of man, of which the _Mudford __Observer_ remarked that I demolished my unfortunate antagonist with the brilliancy of Macaulay, with the philosophy of a Burke, with the wit of a Sheridan, and with a native originality indicative of the rarest genius. Why, it was the talk of the whole town for weeks. Do you really mean to tell me, Mr. Wentworth, that you never heard of that?’ ‘Never,’ said Wentworth dryly. ‘Well, that’s a good one! I thought you gentlemen of London kept your eye on everybody and everything. But you know the Temple Forum?’ ‘Oh, certainly I do.’ ‘Ah! I am glad to hear that, because I am one of the leading lights of that select assembly.’ ‘Well, I am very unfortunate. I cannot remember to have heard you even there; but I must own I seldom went near the place.’ ‘Ah, if you had you would have known me well. Many is the speech I have made there. But perhaps you will kindly glance at this?’ taking out of his hat a dilapidated and somewhat greasy paper. Reluctantly Mr. Wentworth took it. ‘It is an account of one of my lectures before the Minerva Institute at Bullock Smithy.’ ‘Bullock Smithy—never heard of that.’ ‘Come, Mr. Wentworth, you are a bit of a wag, I see.’ ‘Not a bit of it. Never heard of Bullock Smithy in my life.’ ‘Why, it is a rising watering-place in Blankshire, and I had the public hall to lecture in, with the head notable in the chair, and all the _élite_ of the place present; and I assure you, as the _Bullock Smithy Observer_ remarks, it was quite a treat I gave ’em. “Feast of reason, flow of soul,” they call it. I am to give ’em another lecture next summer.’ ‘I am delighted to hear it.’