"We never finished that conversation, did we, Clutterbuck?" he said. Mr. Clutterbuck vaguely remembered the evening at Mrs. Smith's, or rather he vaguely remembered the word or two that William Bailey had spoken. "Peabody Yid, eh?" said William Bailey in a somewhat vulgar manner, catching him in the ribs with his elbow. "Have you learned anything more about the Peabody Yid? You City men are as thick as thieves!" And he laughed in a lower key. "I don't understand you," said Mr. Clutterbuck in real perturbation and suffering. "I don't understand you. Can't you speak like everybody else? I'm tired of the lot!" It was a genuine little cry of pain and William Bailey, being a fanatic, was sentimental and was saddened. "What's up?" he said. Mr. Clutterbuck told him. First briefly, then at length, then with passion he poured out his great wrong. The money paid, accepted--all his friends told--and then the humiliation of New Year's day. William Bailey walked him back and forth before the Palace, then he said: "We'll get in a cab, I shall have less time to speak in that way," and after that last paradox he talked sense; but it was very brief sense. He simply told Mr. Clutterbuck in the short two hundred yards which led them to the station, that if he really wanted help, the unhappy William Bailey was there, and having said that, when Mr. Clutterbuck had taken his ticket and was off to the wicket, he looked for half a second into the merchant's eyes with that strange and dangerous power which the demagogue has commanded in all ages: to the untutored mind of Mr. Clutterbuck it was a glance of singular fascination. So they parted. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 6: The Dean of Portsmouth, "Mixed Sermons," vol. iii. p. 465. Heintz & Sons. 42_s._ London: 1910.] [Footnote 7: Ozee, xvii. 8.] CHAPTER X William Bailey was at this time nearer fifty than forty years of age. Those who saw him for the first time would have imagined him to be an exceptionally vigorous and well-preserved man of maturer years, for while his eyes were energetic and lively the skin of his face had been hardened and lined by travel in very different climates. Moreover, his hair, though not scanty, had turned that peculiar steely grey which men so often preserve well on into old age. His stature, which was considerable, he owed to a pair of very long thin legs, which looked the longer from the invariably ill-fitting loose trousers that he wore; his boots were of enormous size. These, again, were exaggerated to the ordinary beholder from his habit of purchasing pairs far too large for him; and these, I regret to say, were ready made, with square toes, very flat heels, and those offensive deep creases across the instep which betray the slovenly man.