“However, I am but a poor speaker, Harry,” he said; “come with me some evening, and you shall hear all that I have said put forth far more forcibly, and in far better language. Don’t tell old Kyffin where you have been, that’s all. He holds to old-fangled notions, and has no faith in Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality. We will look in first at two or three of the clubs to which I belong, and there’s no reason why he should not suppose that you have been to one of those. There’s the Hums’; you remember my taking you there, at the Blue Posts, in Covent Garden, and the ‘Rights of Man’ Club. I have belonged to that since I came to town. Then we can look in at the Pearl Drinkers’, and if by chance our friend presses you, tell him what you saw there. He probably does not guess that I belong to more than one quiet club, and he may be a little astonished at first, but that won’t matter. He has no power over me out of the office. Mr Coppinger knows my merits, I flatter myself, too much to dispense with my services at Mr Roger Kyffin’s bidding.”
“I don’t like those remarks,” thought Harry to himself. “Ought I to go with this man?”
He very often had thought as much, and yet had followed Sleech’s lead. The day’s work was over. Harry had thought of proposing to walk home with Mr Kyffin, but he went out, and had no opportunity afterwards of speaking to him. Was Roger Kyffin pleased with his ward? Not altogether. He thought that he spent too much time in going to places of public amusement. He might more frequently have offered to go out to Hampstead. Still he did not like to lecture the young man.
“When I was young I should not have been contented with what now pleases me. Harry will soon have had enough of this sort of life, and then will take to more useful pastimes.”
“Come, Harry, let’s be off,” said Mr Sleech, taking him by the arm.
Harry did not resist. Mr Sleech gave him a capital dinner at the “Blue Posts,” and looked in afterwards at the “Pearl Drinkers’ Club.”
“Come now,” he said, “we will steer for the ‘Saracen’s Head,’ Gerard Street, Soho. I will introduce you there to some liberal-minded men, who will make you open your eyes a little.”
Mr Sleech was a rapid walker, and they quickly got over the ground. Giving his name, they were admitted into a large room, already full of persons. A considerable number were young men, but there were some already advanced in life. In address and appearance the greater number had imitated the French Republicans, while all, as a sign of their liberality, kept on their hats. A young man was on his legs, his hair escaping from under his hat, hanging over his shoulders. His eyes rolled wildly, while he flung his arms about in every direction, every now and then bringing his doubled fist down upon the palm of his other hand. His oratory was fluent and bold.
“The past must be buried in oblivion!” he exclaimed. “We dare not look at it. A hideous system of the domination of one class over the souls and minds and bodies of the vast majority. A new era must be organised, but before a better system can be raised up, the ancient must be levelled with the dust. On a new foundation—the whole of the people—we must build up a glorious temple, a superb superstructure, in which people of all nations, united in the bonds of fraternity, must come and worship together the great Goddess of Reason.”