“Always cutting down, always slicing off something!” muttered the other, with his eyes on the paper. “'For the port-collector of Hallihololulo, three hundred and twenty pounds. Mr. Scrudge moved as amendment that the vote be reduced by the sum of seventy-four pounds eighteen and sevenpence, being the amount of the collector's salary for the period of his absence from his post during the prevalence of the yellow fever on the coast. The honorable member knew a gentleman, whose name he was unwilling to mention publicly, but would have much pleasure in communicating confidentially to any honorable gentleman on either side of the House, who had passed several days at Haccamana, and never was attacked by any form of yellow fever.' That was a home-thrust, eh?” cried the reader, addressing Tony. “Not such an easy thing to answer old Scrudge there?” “I'm a poor opinion on such matters,” said Tony, with humility; “but pray tell me, if I were to call at Park Lane--” The remainder of his question was interrupted by the sudden start to his legs of the austere porter, as an effeminate-looking young man with his hat set on one side, and a glass to his eye, swung wide the door, and walked up to the letter-rack. “Only these, Willis?” said he, taking some half-dozen letters of various sizes. “And this, sir,” said the porter, handing him Tony's letter; “but the young man thinks he 'd like to have it back;” while he added, in a low but very significant tone, “he's going to Park Lane with it himself.” The young gentleman turned round at this, and took a Tery leisurely survey of the man who contemplated a step of such rare audacity. “He 's from Ireland, Mr. Darner,” whispered the porter, with a half-kindly impulse to make an apology for such ignorance. Mr. Darner smiled faintly, and gave a little nod, as though to say that the explanation was sufficient; and again turned towards Tony. “I take it that you know Sir Harry Elphinstone?” asked he. “I never saw him; but he knew my father very well, and he 'll remember my name.” “Knew your father? And in what capacity, may I ask?” “In what capacity?” repeated Tony, almost fiercely. “Yes; I mean, as what--on what relations did they stand to each other?” “As schoolfellows at Westminster, where he fagged to my father; in the Grenadier Guards afterwards, where they served together; and, last of all, as correspondents, which they were for many years.” “Ah, yes,” sighed the other, as though he had read the whole story, and a very painful story too, of change of fortune and ruined condition. “But still,” continued he, “I 'd scarcely advise your going to Park Lane. He don't like it. None of them like it!” “Don't they?” said Tony, not even vaguely guessing at whose prejudices he was hinting, but feeling bound to say something.