It was early on Sunday evening; Hoxton had shaken itself from the afternoon slumber, had taken a moderate tea, and was in no two minds about the entirely agreeable way of getting through the hours till bedtime.  Daniel beamed on the good thirsty souls who sought refuge under his roof from the still warm rays of the sun.  Whilst seeing that no customer lacked due attention, he conversed genially with a group of his special friends.  One of these had been present at a meeting held on Clerkenwell Green that morning, a meeting assembled to hear Richard Mutimer.  Richard, a year having passed since his temporary eclipse, was once more prominent as a popular leader.  He was addressing himself to the East End especially, and had a scheme to propound which, whatever might be its success or the opposite, kept him well before the eyes of men.

’What’s all this ‘ere about?’ cried one of the group in an impatiently contemptuous tone.  ‘I can’t see nothin’ in it myself.’

‘I can see as he wants money,’ observed another, laughing.  ’There’s a good many ways o’ gettin’ money without earnin’ it, particular if you’ve got a tongue as goes like a steam engine.’

‘I don’t think so bad of him as all that,’ said the man who had attended the meeting. ’’Tain’t for himself as he wants the money.  What do you think o’ this ‘ere job, Dan?’

‘I’ll tell you more about that in a year’s time,’ replied Dabbs, thrusting his fingers into his waistcoat pockets. ’’Cording to Mike, we’re all goin’ to be rich before we know it.  Let’s hope it’ll come true.’

He put his tongue in his cheek and let his eye circle round the group.

‘Seems to me,’ said the contemptuous man, ’he’d better look after his own people first.  Charity begins at ‘ome, eh, mates?’

‘What do you mean by that?’ inquired a voice.

‘Why, isn’t his brother—­what’s his name?  Bill—­Jack—­’

‘’Arry,’ corrected Daniel.

’To be sure, ’Arry; I don’t know him myself, but I ’eard talk of him.  It’s him as is doin’ his three months’ ‘ard labour.’

‘That ain’t no fault o’ Dick Mutimer’s,’ asserted the apologist.  ’He always was a bad ’un, that ’Arry.  Why, you can say so much, Dan?  No, no, I don’t ‘old with a man’s bein’ cried down cause he’s got a brother as disgraces himself.  It was Dick as got him his place, an’ a good place it was.  It wasn’t Dick as put him up to thievin’, I suppose?’

‘No, no, that’s right enough,’ said Dabbs.  ’Let a man be judged by his own sayin’s and doin’s.  There’s queer stories about Dick Mutimer himself, but—­was it Scotch or Irish, Mike?’

Mike had planted his glass on the counter in a manner suggesting replenishment.

‘Now that’s what I call a cruel question!’ cried Mike humorously.  ’The man as doesn’t stick to his country, I don’t think much of him.’

The humour was not remarkable, but it caused a roar of laughter to go up.