In politics I was a Conservative, but only by birth, and only up to the time of going to the West-End Branch of the Apollo. Then, under the greater knowledge and more philosophical intelligence of Mr. Bright, I began to calm down. It happened over a matter of a tailor. My Aunt Augusta, womanlike, attached importance to my clothes, and now directed me to buy a new suit. Mr. Walter was good enough to tell me of his tailor, who was a man of temperate views in the matter of cost, and I went to him. It was not far to go, as his emporium happened to be next door to the Apollo. Well, this man was distinctly haughty. He was a large, amply-made man with a yellowish beard and full eye; and he looked down the sides of his nose like a camel. I told him that I had come to be measured for a suit of clothes, and he showed no interest whatever, but merely beckoned a lesser man and left me with him. Presently he strolled back, while I was being measured; and when, to show the gulf there must always be fixed, as I thought, between the customer and the tradesman, I hoped his business was prosperous and offered to let him have a pound or two in advance. At this he appeared amused, and asked me if I was one of those American millionaires in disguise. In fact, he was not content with putting himself on my level, but rather clearly indicated that he thought himself above it. This view from a tailor had all the charm of novelty to me; but I felt myself grow rather hot, and in my annoyance I tried a repartee in the style of Mr. Bright. “Is it true that it takes nine tailors to make a man?” I said. “It depends,” he answered. “I expect it would take nine men like you to make a tailor.” Now, even to a tyro in repartee, it was of course apparent that I had got the worst of this. There ought to have been something further to add on my side; but my admiration at such a brilliant flash of badinage was such that I could only laugh with the greatest heartiness. I was, however, merely laughing at the humour, not at the beast of a tailor; and when I had recovered from my amusement, I told him so. I said: “That’s jolly good; but, at the same time, you oughtn’t to talk to new customers in this withering way. You don’t know who I am. I may be the son of a duke, and worth very likely ten or fifteen pounds a year to you for the rest of your life.” It then transpired that he had seen me in the office, when he went to pay his own fire insurance a few days before. “You have a yarn with Mr. Bright and Mr. Walter,” he said. “They’ll tell you a thing or two well worth your knowing.” I fell in with this suggestion and submitted the case to Mr. Bright, who spoke in the following manner: