“Don’t intend to do your duty?”

“I’m going out because England’s money is necessary to me; and England hires me because my skill is necessary to her.  I didn’t think of duty when I settled to go, and why should she?  I’ll get all out of her I can in the way of pay and practice, and she may get all she can out of me in the way of work.  As for being ill-used, I never expect to be anything else in this life.  I’m sure I don’t care; and I’m sure she don’t; so live and let live; talk plain truth, and leave Bunkum for right honourables who keep their places thereby.  Give me another weed.”

“Queer old philosopher you are; but go you shan’t!”

“Go I will, sir; don’t stop me.  I’ve my reasons, and they’re good ones enough.”

The conversation was interrupted by the servant;—­Lord Minchampstead was waiting at Mr. Armsworth’s office.

“Early bird, his lordship, and gets the worm accordingly,” says Mark, as he hurries off to attend on his ideal hero.  “You come over to the shop in half-an-hour, mind.”

“But why?”

“Confound you, sir! you talk of having your reasons:  I have mine!”

Mark looked quite cross; so Tom gave way, and went in due time to the bank.

Standing with his back to the fire in Mark’s inner room, he saw the old cotton prince.

“And a prince he looks like,” quoth Tom to himself, as he waited in the bank outside, and looked through the glass screen.  “How well the old man wears!  I wonder how many fresh thousands he has made since I saw him last, seven years ago.”

And a very noble person Lord Minchampstead did look; one to whom hats went off almost without their owners’ will; tall and portly, with a soldier-like air of dignity and command, which was relieved by the good-nature of the countenance.  Yet it was a good-nature which would stand no trifling.  The jaw was deep and broad, though finely shaped; the mouth firm set; the nose slightly aquiline; the brow of great depth and height, though narrow;—­altogether a Julius Caesar’s type of head; that of a man born to rule self, and therefore to rule all he met.

Tom looked over his dress, not forgetting, like a true Englishman, to mark what sort of boots he wore.  They were boots not quite fashionable, but carefully cleaned on trees; trousers strapped tightly over them, which had adopted the military stripe, but retained the slit at the ankle which was in vogue forty years ago; frock coat with a velvet collar, buttoned up, but not too far; high and tight blue cravat below an immense shirt collar; a certain care and richness of dress throughout, but soberly behind the fashion:  while the hat was a very shabby and broken one, and the whip still more shabby and broken; all which indicated to Tom that his lordship let his tailor and his valet dress him; and though not unaware that it behoved him to set out his person as it deserved, was far too fine a gentleman to trouble himself about looking fine.