"Yes, yes, of course; I know all about that. You'll pardon me, Mr. Joyce, I'm a much older man than you, and therefore you won't mind my experiencing a certain amount of delight in your perfect freshness and simplicity. As to leaving the man's life blank, and all that--nonsense, my dear sir, sheer nonsense. He'll find plenty of distraction, even at his age, to fill up the blank. Now, I was not considering the question from a domestic point of view in the least; what I meant was, do you think that it will alter any of his intentions as regards public life?" "Public life?--Mr. Creswell?" "Yes, indeed, public life, Mr. Creswell! I suppose now there's no harm in telling you that the Conservative authorities in London, the wire-pullers in Westminster, have long had it in their minds to wrest the seat for Brocksopp from the Liberals, that at the next general election they have determined to make the fight, and they have selected Mr. Creswell as their champion." "Mr. Creswell of Woolgreaves--going into Parliament?" "Well, that's rather a summary way of putting it, Mr. Joyce," said the lawyer, with a chuckle. "Say rather, going to try to get into Parliament! Bidwell, of Brocksopp, the Liberal agent, is a deuced long-headed fellow, and will make a tremendous struggle to keep Mr. Creswell out in the cold. Do you know Bidwell, of Brocksopp?" "I have a slight acquaintance with him." "Then you've a slight acquaintance with a remarkably sharp character, and one who never misses a chance for his party. It will be a tremendous fight, sir, this next election," said Mr. Gould, warming up, placing all his olive-stones in a row, and charging at them with his dessert-knife; "they'll do all they can to beat us, and we shall have to do all we know to hold our own. When I say 'we,' of course I reckon you as a Conservative." "I--I have no political opinions. I take no interest in politics," said Joyce absently. Mr. Creswell, from any but a domestic point of view, could not rouse an emotion in him. "Don't you indeed? No political opinions? Ah, I remember when I hadn't any myself. That was--dear me!" and the astute parliamentary agent made a new pattern with the olive-stones, while his thoughts went back for a quarter of a century, to a time when he was under articles in Gray's Inn, used to frequent the Cider Cellars, and was desperately in love with the columbine of the Adelphi.