We may presume, and we do presume, of course, that ladies and gentlemen who subscribe to Mudie’s would be much cleverer than all this comes to, but still there are other ladies and gentlemen who, taking in the daily papers and reading therein: “Ten pounds wanted for one week; fifteen pounds will be given for the above at the end of seven days; ample security deposited,” see and believe just as Arthur Dudley heard and believed likewise. Even amongst the ladies and gentlemen who do subscribe to Mudie’s, it is most probable there may have been a few who, in times gone by, deluded by plausible circulars, took shares in some of Mr. Black’s companies, and, as a natural consequence, lost their money; and—since there is no one who speaks so loudly against the errors of his former religion as an apostate—doubtless the individuals to whom I refer will declare Arthur Dudley’s credulity to be wicked, if not impossible. Deferentially I stand aside, while the book is laid down, and the suitable oration delivered, then with all due respect I take up the thread of my story once again, and speak of things which are taking place every day in the City, where fresh dupes come hourly to be fleeced, and fresh shearers, no more tender or scrupulous than Mr. Black, attend to relieve the unsuspecting sheep of their superfluous wool. Arthur Dudley was to have had half! Remembering this, which in the hurry and confusion of his interview with Mr. Black he had forgotten, the secretary took his hat, and walked off to the City. Sooner than his friend had expected he accepted that gentleman’s invitation, and entering the offices in Dowgate Hill, where another company—the “Universal Law Stationery”—was in course of formation, found the promoter up to his ears in business, with half a dozen people waiting to see him. “Tell Mr. Black I will not detain him five minutes,” said Arthur, quite loud enough for the whole congregation to hear, after, it may be remarked, the pleasing fashion of country people in London. “You know me, don’t you?” he added, seeing the clerk hesitate, “I am the secretary of the Protector Bread Company.” Thereupon the visitors each drew his own conclusion. Some, very green indeed, thought what a great man Mr. Dudley must be, thus to force himself into the presence of the magnificent director; others, less easily impressionable, decided that a screw had got loose in the Protector, which Mr. Black was expected to set right. At all events, they each and all began working out the problem of what the secretary could want with his principal, while Arthur marched into the presence of the great man, and found him not engaged with any individual, but simply writing his letters for post. “What’s up with you?” were his first words; “has any one come for a million of shares? or is there a fire at Stangate—or—or what the devil brings you into the City at such a time of day as this?”