"It seems that a personal interview was imperative." "It was, sir." "Well, I am not disinclined to listen to you. Anything respecting politics? My son, Mr. Richard Hollingworth, has lately been returned to Parliament in the interests of the working-man, as I dare say you know." "Yes, sir, I know it. That is how I found you out, though I expected to see an older gentleman than you." Mr. Hollingworth smiled. "You may do that in the course of years if I live. Your expectation is an inexplicable one, however, and as strange as your expression that you have found me out. Almost a crime," he continued, still with a smile on his face, "to be found out in these days. You have come, then, upon political business?" "No, sir; I have come upon private business." "Upon private business! A singular time to introduce it. As singular as the question. What private business can there be between you and me, who are perfect strangers to each other?" "There _is_ private business between us, sir, of a vital nature. You will understand if you will listen to me, as you said you would." "Will you be long?" "I will try not to be, but there's a tale to tell." "Tell it, my friend, as briefly as you can. Will you wait?" he asked, turning to his guest, "or shall we resume our conversation to-morrow?" "I will wait," replied Mr. Manners, "unless you wish to hear this person in private." "I have no such wish." "I think it will be better, sir," said Mr. Parkinson, "that we shall speak without witnesses." "Let me be the judge of that," said Mr. Hollingworth, warmly. "You have chosen to intrude upon me at an untimely hour, and if you have anything to say of which you are ashamed, you have only yourself to blame for the publicity." "The shame's on your side, not on mine," retorted Mr. Parkinson, speaking as warmly as Mr. Hollingworth had done, "and the blame rests with you and yours." Mr. Hollingworth's hand, at this retort, was extended towards the bell, and but for the last two words uttered by his visitor he would have ordered him to the door. He sank back in his chair, and with some sternness desired Mr. Parkinson to proceed. "I am, as you may see, sir, a working-man, and have been so all my life. I live Whitechapel way, and this is my full name and address." He placed an envelope on the table. "I am a widower with one child, a daughter, just eighteen years of age. My wife died eight years ago, and I brought up my girl as well as I could. She is good-looking, worse luck! and can read and write. There has never been anything against me; I owe no man a penny, and my character in my line is as good as yours or any gentleman's in his." "I don't see how all this affects me," said Mr. Hollingworth, with an assumption of weariness. "Cannot you spare me further details?" "I must tell my story my own way, sir, and you will soon see how it affects you." "Go on, then, if it must be so."