The next evening, just as Zachariah and his wife were sitting down to tea, there was a tap at the door, and in walked Major Maitland. He was now in full afternoon costume, and, if not dandyish, was undeniably well dressed. Making a profound bow to Mrs. Coleman, he advanced to the fireplace and instantly shook hands with Zachariah. “Well, my republican, you are better, although the beery loyalist has left his mark upon you.” “Certainly, much better; but where I should have been, sir, if it had not been for you, I don’t know.” “Ah, well; it was an absolute pleasure to me to teach the blackguard that cheering a Bourbon costs something. My God, though, a man must be a fool who has to be taught that! I wonder what it _has_ cost us. Why, I see you’ve got my friend, Major Cartwright, up there.” Zachariah and his wife started a moment at what they considered the profane introduction of God’s name; but it was not exactly swearing, and Major Maitland’s relationship to them was remarkable. They were therefore silent. “A true friend of the people,” continued Maitland, “is Major Cartwright; but he does not go quite far enough to please me.” “As for the people so-called,” quoth Zachariah, “I doubt whether they are worth saving. Look at the mob we saw the day before yesterday. I think not of the people. But there is a people, even in these days of Ahab, whose feet may yet be on the necks of their enemies.” “Why, you are an aristocrat,” said Maitland, smiling; “only you want to abolish the present aristocracy and give us another. You must not judge us by what you saw in Piccadilly, and while you are still smarting from that smasher on your eye. London, I grant you, is not, and never was, a fair specimen. But, even in London, you must not be deceived. You don’t know its real temper; and then, as to not being worth saving—why, the worse men are the more they want saving. However, we are both agreed about this—crew, Liverpool, the Prince Regent, and his friends.” A strong word was about to escape before “crew,” but the Major saw that he was in a house where it would be out of place. “I wish you’d join our Friends of the People. We want two or three determined fellows like you. We are all safe.” “What are the ‘Friends of the People’?” “Oh, it’s a club of—a—good fellows who meet twice a week for a little talk about affairs. Come with me next Friday and see.” Zachariah hesitated a moment, and then consented. “All right; I’ll fetch you.” He was going away, and picked up from the table a book he had brought with him.