“Damme, it’s Luke Verners come to town. Business for locksmiths here,” was the coarse-witted welcome of a lord. “Locksmiths?” asked Verners. “Ain’t it locksmiths one employs to put bolts and bars on one’s wife’s bedroom?” “You flatter me, my lord,” said Verners. The dandy eyed him appraisingly. “Perhaps I do, Verners, perhaps I do. You are past your prime.” “Does your lordship care to give me opportunity to prove otherwise, with pistols, swords or--her ladyship?” A hot reception? Music in the ears of Mr. Verners, who relished it for its coarseness, for what seemed to him the authentic note of London Town, a greeting spoken propitiously by a lord. And if this was a good beginning, better was to follow. Mr. Seccombe rose from the chair where he was drowsing, recognized Verners with a start and came up to him interestedly. “Rot your chaff, Godalming,” he said. “Verners will give you as good as he gets any day. Tell us the news of the North, man. Are things as queer as they say?” “What do they say?” asked Luke. “They speak of steam-engines.” “Oh, Lord,” groaned Godaiming. “Old Seccombe’s on his hobby-horse.” “Of steam-engines,” repeated Mr. Seccombe severely, “and of workers whose bread is taken out of their mouths by machinery, so that they are thrown upon the poor-rates that the landlords must pay.” “Gospel truth, Mr. Seccombe,” said Luke feelingly, “and yond fellow Arkwright, that began it, made a knight and a High Sheriff for doing us the favor of ruining us. What’s the country coming to?” “Corruption and decay,” said his lordship. “Is that so sure?” queried Seccombe. “What is your word on that, Verners?” “Beyond doubt, it is the end of all things when landlords are milked through the poor-rates,” said Luke. “Yet steam would appear to have possibilities?” “Oh, Seccombe’s a hopeless crank,” said Godalming. “Possibilities for whom, Mr. Seccombe?” asked Vemers. “For a barber like this Arkwright? Yes, he throve on steam, but what is that to us? Will steam grow corn?” “Steam is an infamy,” stated a gentleman called Collinson. “You do not agree, Seccombe? No, why should you? You own houses in London. Easy for you to play the philosopher. Those of us with land are beginning to watch the trading classes closely, and steam has the appearance of an ally to trade and enemy to us.” “Then let the alliance be with us, Mr. Collinson,” said Seccombe. “Indeed, I am making no original suggestion. We have had the cases mentioned here of more than one man of our own order who--” “Traitors! Outcasts!” cried Godalming. “Or, perhaps, wise men, my lord. I do not know.” “You don’t know if it is wise to sell your soul to the devil?” “Personally,” said Mr. Seccombe, “I should regard that transaction as precarious, but not to the present point. There was mentioned the example of one Hepplestall.” “You have heard of him--here?” Mr. Verners was astonished. “We were interested to hear,” said Mr. Collinson. “Of a perversion,” said Godalming.