“I must go and get something to eat,” he said.  “Will you come Miss Scott?”

She shook her head.

“I have to make out a list of things we want for my department,” she said.  “Last night they were nearly all women here.  Don’t bother about me.  Mr. Flitch will put me in an omnibus at London Bridge.  You must see those reporters.  You’ve read the evening papers, haven’t you?”

Brooks nodded.

“Yes.  I knew we should have opposition.  This isn’t even the beginning of it.  It won’t hurt us.”

Nevertheless Brooks was anxious to be properly understood, and he talked for a long time with the reporter, whom he found awaiting him in Jermyn Street—­a pleasant young fellow just back from the war, with the easy manner and rattling conversation of his order.

“You ought to call in and have a chat with the chief, Mr. Brooks,” he said.  “He’d be delighted to hear your views personally, I’m sure, and I believe you’d convert him.  He’s a bit old-fashioned, you know, that is for a sub—­believes in the orthodox societies, and makes a great point of not encouraging idleness.”

“I’d be glad to some time,” Brooks answered.  “But I can tell you this.  If we can get the money, and I haven’t asked for a penny yet, nothing in the shape of popular opinion is going to stop us.  Idleness and drunkenness, deceit and filthy-mindedness, and all those vices which I admit are like a pestilence amongst these people, are sins which we are responsible for, not them, and, of course, we must suffer to some extent from them.  But we’ve got to grapple with them.  We shall be taken advantage of, and grossly deceived continually.  I know of one or two cases already.  We expect it—­count upon it.  But in the end we shall come out on the top.  If we are consistent the thing will right itself.”

“You are a young man to be so interested in philanthropic work, Mr. Brooks Every one seems to consider philanthropy the pursuit of the old,” Brooks answered.  “I don’t know why, I am sure.”

“And may I ask if that is a sample of your daily correspondence?” he asked, pointing to the table.

Brooks looked at the enormous pile of letters and shook his head.

“I have never had more than twenty letters at a time in my life,” he answered.  “There seems to be almost as many thousands there.  It is, I suppose, a result of the Press booming our modest little show.  I can scarcely feel as grateful as I should like to.  Have another pipe, will you—­or a cigar?  I think unless there’s anything else you’d like to ask I’d better begin on these.”

“Nothing more, thanks,” the pressman answered; “but if I might I’d like to stay while you open a few.  There might be something interesting.  If you’ll forgive my remarking it, there seem to be a good many registered letters.  I understood that you had not appealed to the public for subscriptions.”

“Neither have I,” Brooks answered, stretching out his hand.  “If there is money in these it is entirely unsolicited.”