Devlin made himself exceedingly pleasant, and the comments he passed on the people we met excited my admiration and increased my wonder. He seemed to be able to read their characters in their faces, and although I would have liked to combat his views I did not venture to oppose my judgment to his. What struck me particularly was that he saw the evil in men, not the good. Not once did he give man or woman credit for the possession of good qualities. All was mean, sordid, grasping, and selfish. He told me that we should have to walk four miles to his place of business. "I enjoy walking," he said, "and the only riding I care for is on the top of an omnibus through squalid streets. You get peeps into garrets and one-room habitations. Gifted with the power of observation, you can see rare pictures there." On our road I stopped at a post-office, and sent a telegram of three words to my wife: "All is well." Our course lay in the direction of Westminster. We crossed the bridge, and turned down a narrow street. Chapel Street. Half-way down the street Devlin paused, and said, "Behold our establishment." It was a poor and common house, and had it not been for a barber's pole sticking out from the doorway, and a fly-blown cardboard in the parlour window, on which was written, "Barber and Hairdresser. All styles. Lowest charges," I should not have supposed that a trade was carried on therein. As we entered the passage a woman came forward and handed Devlin a key. He thanked her, unlocked the parlour door, and we went in. The fittings in this room, which I saw at a glance was the shop in which the shaving and hair-dressing were done, were entirely out of keeping with the poor tenement in which it was situated. The walls were lined with fine mirrors; there were three luxurious barber's chairs; the washstands were of marble; and the appliances for shampooing perfect. "You would hardly expect it," observed Devlin. "I would not," I replied. "It is my idea," he said. "It rivals the West End establishments, and for skill I would challenge the world, if I were desirous of courting publicity. Then, the charges. One-sixth those of Truefit. I shave for a penny, cut for another penny, shampoo for another. But only those can be attended to who hold my tickets. I was compelled to adopt this plan, otherwise I should have been overwhelmed with customers. It enables me to choose them. When I see a likely man, one who is ripe, and in whom I discern possibilities which commend themselves to me, I say, 'Oblige me, sir, by accepting this ticket of admission;' and having given him a taste of my skill, he comes again. I have quite a connection." He accompanied these last words with a strange smile. "What part do you propose to assign to me in the business?" I asked.