“But I’ll put a stop to it!” continued the Railway Lion, dealing a tremendous blow with his clenched fist upon the table: “I’ll bring in a Bill next Session, Mr. Styles, to protect public men from insolent intrusion!” “It will serve the scoundrels quite right, my dear sir,” responded the small speculator, approvingly. “By Gad! I’ll pay the reskels off for it!” exclaimed the mighty man, who could command hundreds of thousands of pounds, but not the minutest fraction of his temper. The door now opened again; and the pompous domestic, whose countenance was expressive of deep indignation, ushered in the reader’s old friend--Mr. Clarence Villiers,--now a fine, handsome man, in the prime of life. “Well, sir--and what do _you_ want?” demanded Mr. Podgson, with all the overbearing insolence of a contemptible _parvenu_. “In the first place, sir,” replied Clarence, speaking in a firm but gentlemanly tone, and glancing towards the servant who lingered near the door, “I must take the liberty of advising you to recommend your lacquey, to treat at least with respect, if not with courtesy, those persons whom business may bring to your house; for I can assure you that it required no ordinary forbearance on my part to restrain my hand from laying this cane across his shoulders.” “What, sir--you dare, sir----” stammered Mr. Podgson, his vast, ignoble countenance becoming the colour of scarlet. “I dare chastise any one who is insolent to me, be he who or what he may, sir,” answered Villiers, in a very significant way, and in so determined a tone, too, that the pompous domestic evaporated and the Railway Lion was struck speechless with amazement--for he felt as if he were literally bearded in his den! “Being myself a gentleman by birth and education, and I hope in manners and conduct, I am accustomed to treat my equals with courtesy and my inferiors with kindness; and I will tolerate insult from neither. But enough of that subject, Mr. Podgson,” continued Villiers: “the object of my visit is soon explained. For many years I have enjoyed a confidential situation in the service of the Earl of Ellingham----” “Oh! I really beg your pardon, Mr. Villiers!” exclaimed the Railway Lion, with a start as if the piles of a voltaic battery had suddenly been applied to his unwieldy carcase. “I wasn’t aware that you knew Lord Ellingham--or else----But pray take a chair, Mr. Villiers.”