"Oh, no, it is not," Vincent rejoined—but respectfully, for he never forgot that Lord Musselburgh was his senior by very nearly five years. "You see, you don’t go into partnership with your hairdresser, and you don’t put your name over the bootmaker’s shop. And I shouldn’t learn much from Mr. Ogden, for I don’t believe in his machine-made politics—everything to be done by committees, and resolutions, and majorities. I expect to find him starting a Society for the Suppression of Punch and Judy Shows, so that the infantile mind of England may not be corrupted by exhibitions of brutality." "He is a very able man, let me tell you that," said Musselburgh, with decision. "And a capital speaker—a slogger, of course, but that is wanted for big crowds. And sometimes he turns out a neat thing. Did you notice what he said at Sheffield the other day—telling the working men not to be too grateful for rich men’s charities—for recreation grounds, drinking fountains, and the like? What he said was this—’When the capitalist has robbed Peter, it is easy for him to salve his conscience by throwing a crust to Paul’—not bad. I think you might do worse, Vin, than become Ogden’s private secretary. Pretty hard work, of course; but the modern young man, in politics, is supposed to be thoroughly in earnest: if he isn’t he will have to reckon with the evening papers, for they don’t like to be trifled with." The subject was not a grateful one, apparently; Vincent changed it. "Do you remember," he said, with some little diffidence, "that—that I was in your house one afternoon a few weeks ago when an old gentleman called—and—and his granddaughter—" "The perfervid old Scotchman—yes!" "How did you come to know him?" the young man asked, with downcast eyes. "I hardly recollect. Let me see. I think he first of all wrote to me, enclosing a note of introduction he had brought from a friend of mine in New York—a brother Scot. Then, as you saw, he called, and told me something further about a book he is going to bring out; and I gave him some little assistance—I don’t think he is above accepting a few sovereigns from any one to help him on his way through the world." Vin Harris flushed hotly—and he raised his head and looked his friend straight in the face as he put the next question. "But—but he is a gentleman!—his name—his family—even his bearing—" "Oh, yes, yes, I suppose so," Lord Musselburgh said, lightly. "Poor old fellow, I was glad to lend him a helping hand. I think his enthusiasm, his patriotism, was genuine; and it is a thing you don’t often meet with nowadays." "Yes—but—but—-" Vincent said, with a good deal of embarrassment, and yet with some touch of half-indignant remonstrance, "the money you gave him—that was to aid him in bringing out the book, wasn’t it?"