On the last day of the debate, at a few moments before four o’clock, Phineas encountered another terrible misfortune.  He had been at the potted peas since twelve, and had on this occasion targed two or three commissariat officers very tightly with questions respecting cabbages and potatoes, and had asked whether the officers on board a certain ship did not always eat preserved asparagus while the men had not even a bean.  I fear that he had been put up to this business by Mr. Quintus Slide, and that he made himself nasty.  There was, however, so much nastiness of the kind going, that his little effort made no great difference.  The conservative members of the Committee, on whose side of the House the inquiry had originated, did not scruple to lay all manner of charges to officers whom, were they themselves in power, they would be bound to support and would support with all their energies.  About a quarter before four the members of the Committee had dismissed their last witness for the day, being desirous of not losing their chance of seats on so important an occasion, and hurried down into the lobby,—­so that they might enter the House before prayers.  Phineas here was button-holed by Barrington Erle, who said something to him as to the approaching division.  They were standing in front of the door of the House, almost in the middle of the lobby, with a crowd of members around them,—­on a spot which, as frequenters know, is hallowed ground, and must not be trodden by strangers.  He was in the act of answering Erle, when he was touched on the arm, and on turning round, saw Mr. Clarkson.  “About that little bill, Mr. Finn,” said the horrible man, turning his chin round over his white cravat.  “They always tell me at your lodgings that you ain’t at home.”  By this time a policeman was explaining to Mr. Clarkson with gentle violence that he must not stand there,—­that he must go aside into one of the corners.  “I know all that,” said Mr. Clarkson, retreating.  “Of course I do.  But what is a man to do when a gent won’t see him at home?” Mr. Clarkson stood aside in his corner quietly, giving the policeman no occasion for further action against him; but in retreating he spoke loud, and there was a lull of voices around, and twenty members at least had heard what had been said.  Phineas Finn no doubt had his privilege, but Mr. Clarkson was determined that the privilege should avail him as little as possible.

It was very hard.  The real offender, the Lord of the Treasury, the peer’s son, with a thousand a year paid by the country was not treated with this cruel persecution.  Phineas had in truth never taken a farthing from any one but his father; and though doubtless he owed something at this moment, he had no creditor of his own that was even angry with him.  As the world goes he was a clear man,—­but for this debt of his friend Fitzgibbon.  He left Barrington Erle in the lobby, and hurried into the House, blushing up to the eyes.  He looked for Fitzgibbon in his place, but the Lord of the Treasury was not as yet there.  Doubtless he would be there for the division, and Phineas resolved that he would speak a bit of his mind before he let his friend out of his sight.