While Joyce was looking round at these things, the old man had lit a lamp suspended from the ceiling, and another standing on the square work-table; had opened a cupboard, and from it had produced a black bottle, two tumblers, and a decanter of water; had filled and lit a mighty pipe, and had motioned his companion to make free with the liquor and with the contents of an ancient-looking tobacco-jar, which he pushed towards him. "Smoke, man!" said he, puffing out a thin line of vapour through his almost closed lips, and fanning it away lazily with his hand--"smoke!--that's one thing they can't keep from us, though they'd like. My lord should puff at his havannah while the commonalty, the plebs, the _profanum vulgus_, who are hated and driven away, should 'exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming weed!' Thank God we've altered all that since poor John Philips's day; he'd get better change for his Splendid Shilling now than ever he did in his time, eh? Talking Greek to you, am I? or worse than Greek, for that you'd understand, I dare say, and you'll never understand my old mutterings and quotations. You can read Greek?" "Yes," Joyce said; "I am reckoned a tolerable Grecian." "Indeed!" said the old man, with a grin; "ah! no doubt you were an honour to your college." "Unfortunately," said Walter, "I have never been to college." "Then your state is the more gracious! By George! I thought I'd picked up with a sucking don, all trencher-cap, and second aorist, and Conservative principles, Church and State, a big Bible with a sceptre stretched across it, and a fear of the 'swart mechanics' bloody thumbs' printed off on my lord's furniture, as provided by Messrs. Jackson and Graham! You don't follow me, young fellow? Like enough, like enough. I think myself I'm a little enigmatical when I get on my hobby, and it requires a good steady stare of honest wonderment, such as I see on your face now, to bring me up short. I'm brought up short now, and can attend to more sublunary matters, such as yours. Tell me about yourself." "What shall I tell you?" asked Joyce. "I can tell nothing beyond what you already know, or can guess. I'm without friends, without work; I've lost hope----" "No, no, my boy not lost, only mislaid it. We never lose hope so long as we're good for anything! Sometimes, when I've been most depressed and down, about the only thing in life that has any interest for me now--and you've no idea what that is, have you, Joyce, eh?" "No, indeed; unless, perhaps, your children!" "Children! Thank God, I never had a wife or a child to give me a care. No; the People's cause, my boy, the People's cause! That's what I live for, and sometimes, as I've been saying, I've been downhearted about that. I've seen the blood beating us down on the one side, and the money beating us down on the other, and I've thought that it was useless kicking against the pricks, and that we had better cave in and give up!" "But you say you never lost hope?"