"Good heavens!" exclaimed the timid John Perkins--"don't say SO. My
dear Mr. Scully, I'm not the dishonest character you suppose me to
be--I never looked at the matter in this light. I'll--I'll consider
of it. I'll tell Crampton that I will give up the place; but for
Heaven's sake, don't let me forfeit YOUR friendship, which is dearer
to me than any place in the world."

Mr. Scully pressed his hand, and said nothing; and though their
interview lasted a full half-hour longer, during which they paced up
and down the gravel walk, we shall not breathe a single syllable of
their conversation, as it has nothing to do with our tale.

The next morning, after an interview with Miss Lucy, John Perkins,
Esquire, was seen to issue from Mrs. Biggs's house, looking
particularly pale, melancholy, and thoughtful; and he did not stop
until he reached a certain door in Downing Street, where was the
office of a certain great Minister, and the offices of the clerks in
his Lordship's department.

The head of them was Mr. Josiah Crampton, who has now to be
introduced to the public. He was a little old gentleman, some sixty
years of age, maternal uncle to John Perkins; a bachelor, who had
been about forty-two years employed in the department of which he
was now the head.

After waiting four hours in an ante-room, where a number of
Irishmen, some newspaper editors, many pompous-looking political
personages asking for the "first lord," a few sauntering clerks, and
numbers of swift active messengers passed to and fro;--after waiting