“To put on side, because you think you are more important than that tailor, is absolute footle, my dear Corkey,” he declared. “That tailor, if you’ll excuse me for saying so, is worth forty thousand of you. He’s richer; he’s wiser; he’s smarter; he’s worked harder; he knows more; he’s traveled farther; he’s better-looking; in fact, he can give you yards and a beating in every possible direction; so why the deuce do you think yourself, in some mysterious way, the better man? Where do you reckon you’re better?” “Well,” I said, “my father was a soldier and died for his country.” “That’s all right,” said Mr. Bright. “Your father was a hero, no doubt, and any properly minded person would have treated him as such. But you’re not. You haven’t died for your country, by the look of you, and haven’t the smallest intention of doing so. My grandfather was a bishop; but I don’t expect people to ask for my blessing on the strength of it. There’s only one exception to the rule that one man’s as good as another, my dear Corkey—_only one exception_.” “And what is that?” I asked. “The only exception is—when he’s a jolly sight better!” answered Mr. Bright. “You must judge of a man by himself, not by the accidents of birth or cash. The tailor next door has won his place in the world by hard work and sense and brains; therefore he has a perfect right to reserve his judgment, so far as you are concerned, until he sees what you are good for. And, seeing that he’s got probably a thousand pounds to every one of your shillings, the spectacle of you advancing a quid on your clothes—to keep him going—naturally amused him.” This was my first introduction to political economy and the rights of man, so naturally I found it exceedingly interesting. In fact, so much did the force of Mr. Bright’s arguments impress me that, in a week, I was an advanced Socialist, and going too far altogether in the opposite direction. But now an exciting event claims my attention; for at the West-End Branch a fresh duty devolved upon me, and I had to attend upon the Directors of the Company, when they dropped in from time to time to put their signatures to the new policies. Every policy had the signature of two Directors upon it, otherwise it was not a complete legal document; so the great men came occasionally, and I had to stand beside them, blotting-paper in hand, and blot their names as they wrote them, and draw away each policy in turn as it was signed.