“Shut up, and get out,” said his friend. “Get out, I say, or----” Algernon made room for him, and the aggrieved client marched out with as much dignity as he could command. Left together, father and son glared at each other icily. They were both of the same height, tall and thin, and closely resembling each other, with the strong type of the Campaigne face; and both wore pince-nez. The only difference was that the elder of the two was a little thin about the temples. The consciousness of being in the wrong destroyed the natural superiority of the father. He replied with a weak simulacrum of a laugh. “Surely the situation explains itself,” he said feebly, opening the door for explanation. “Am I to understand that for money you write--write--write speeches for people who pretend--actually pretend--that they are their own?” “Undoubtedly. Did not your friend confess to you why he was coming here?” “Well--of course he did.” “And did you remonstrate with him on account of his dishonesty?” Mr. Algernon Campaigne shirked the question, and replied by another. “And do you regard this mode of money-making--I cannot call it a profession--this mode--honourable--a thing to be proud of?” “Why not? Certain persons with no oratorical gifts are called upon to speak after dinner or on other occasions. They write to me for assistance. I send them speeches. I coach them. In fact, I am an oratorical coach. They learn what they have to say, and they say it. It is a perfectly honourable, laudable, and estimable way of making money. Moreover, my son, it makes money.” “Then, why not conduct this--this trade--openly under your own name?” “Because, in the nature of things, it is a secret business. My clients’ names are secret. So also is the nature of our transactions.” “But this place is not Lincoln’s Inn. How do you spare the time from your law work?” “My dear boy, there has been a little deception, pardonable under the circumstances. In point of fact, I never go to Lincoln’s Inn. There is no practice. I’ve got a garret which I never go near. There never has been any practice.” “No practice?” The young man sank helplessly into a chair. “No practice? But we have been so proud all along of your distinguished career.” “There has never been any legal practice at all. I adopted this line in the hope of making a little money at a time when the family was pretty hard up, and it succeeded beyond my expectations.” Algernon sat down and groaned aloud. “We are done for. That--that little beast is the most spiteful creature in the world, and the most envious. He is mad to be thought clever. He has published some things--I believe he bought them. He goes about; he poses. There isn’t a man in London more dangerous. He will tell everybody. How shall we face the storm?” “People, my son, will still continue to want their after-dinner speeches.”