“You’re never getting out here, my dears?” protested the brown-faced woman. They assured her this was their destination. “Well, then,” taking up her heavy basket, “dang it all—it only means a extra fowermile walk for me—if I don’t get out with you, just for the pleasure of your company!” XV—MY BROTHER EDWARD THE case of my brother Edward is typical of many, and I set the facts down here, partly as reminder to myself, mainly for the information of the public. I said once, when in the company of some other bright spirits, that the pupils of yesterday are the teachers of to-morrow, by which remark I meant to convey that we learn in our youth, and in our middle age become, in turn, the instructors. Poor Edward had the same advantages that came to me in school days, the very same advantages. Our mother consulted us in turn; I, the elder, decided, without hesitation, to go into the City; Edward, a year later, suggested that he should go into an engineering place at Wandsworth, on the other side of the river. “No, no,” I said when I reached home that night. “This won’t do at all. Choose a refined occupation. We don’t want all Fulham to think that the sweeps are continually coming in and going out of the house. We may have our faults, but no one can say that we haven’t always worn a clean collar.” “I’ll keep mine for Sundays,” remarked Edward. “Mother,” I went on, “please let it be understood that this is a matter which concerns me to some extent. Supposing I wished to bring home a friend from Bucklersbury, and supposing that just as I opened the front gate Edward came along. How should I be able to explain—” “Say,” suggested Edward, “that I was going in for Christy Minstrel business in my spare time. Say I was just off to St. James’s Hall.” “I place my veto on the scheme.” “You can place whatever you like,” he retorted, “and it won’t make any difference.” “Very well,” I said, “very well. In that case I consider myself relieved of all responsibility. I’ve done with it. Only, mind this, don’t come to me in after years—” “I promise that.” “And complain that I omitted to give you advice. Mother, you’re a witness.” I put my silk hat on and went out of the house. I have always been willing to give people the benefit of my counsel, but the moment I find they cease to be receptive I—to use a vulgarism—dry up.