Frederick saw them unloading the cotton and piling it high on the docks. He knew it was going to the weavers of Lancashire. He wondered if those weavers knew how cotton was planted and chopped and picked. The Hutchinsons had been in Liverpool before, so they all went to a small hotel not far from the wide Quadrant. Frederick stood in the square gazing up at the great columned building fashioned after the Greek Parthenon and for a moment he forgot about the cotton. He liked the quiet, solid strength of that building. He resolved to visit it to feel the stone and measure the columns. Quite unexpectedly Liverpool became aware of Frederick Douglass. The young men who had been so rudely halted in their premeditated violence, went immediately to the police demanding the arrest of the “runaway slave” and of the ship’s Captain! They were not prepared for the calm detachment of British justice. Never doubting the outcome, the young men repaired to the newspapers, where they told of their “outrageous treatment,” denounced the Captain and all his crew and heaped abuse upon the insolent instigator of this “crime against society.” British curiosity is not easily aroused. But the young men’s language pricked both the authorities and the newspapermen. They did not like it. They dropped in on Captain Judkins. His words were few, brusque and pointed. The police asked politely if he wished them to lock the young men up. The Captain considered their proposal coolly and decided he had no interest in the young men. He _was_ going to take his Missus to hear the black American speak. She would enjoy it. And now, if the inspector was finished, his Missus was waiting. The Captain hurried away, rolling a little on his sea legs; and the newspapermen decided they would visit the “black American.” * * * * * The Honorable William Gladstone, down from London for a few days, re-read a certain column in his paper over a late and solitary breakfast. The new Colonial Secretary spent most of his time in London; but Liverpool remained his home. It was a lovely house, well out of town, away from the dirt and noise of warehouses and docks. Well back from the graveled road, behind high fences and undulating greens, sat the residences of England’s merchant princes. Gladstone had represented his neighbors in the government since he was twenty-three years old, first as vice-president and then president of the Board of Trade. Now, at thirty-six, he had been made Colonial Secretary. It took a man who knew trade and the proper restrictions for its protection to handle the affairs of Egypt, Australia and fabulously rich India. The young man frowned and crumpled his paper. “Nevins!” he called. “Yes, sir!” “Nevins, have you been in town this week?” Nevins considered before answering. There must be no mistake about this matter. “Not this week, sir.” “Well, have you heard any talk of a British India Society meeting?” “I beg your pardon, sir?”