"I'm glad of that; that's the best news you could give me. Do they think well of me? Do they think I do my work well, and"
"Good Lord, what a swallow the lad has for flummery!" grambled old Byrne. "He'd like me to repeat every word of praise to him. It's wonderful to see how he glows under it—no, not wonderful, when one recollects how young he is. Ah, youth, youth! Do they? Yes, of course they do; you know that well enough. It's deuced lucky you gave up that notion of going to Berlin, Walter, boy."
"Yes," said Joyce, with a sigh, as he remembered all about the proposal; "I'm better here."
"Better here, I should think you were, indeed! A correspondent can't do much in the way of making his mark. He can be serious and well-informed, or chatty and nonsensical; he can elect between describing the councils of cabinets or the circumference of crinolines; but in either case his scope is limited, and he can never get much fame for himself. Now in your present position as an essayist and leader-writer of remarkable ability—oh, you needn't pretend to blush, you know I shouldn't say what I didn't think—there is possibly a very bright future in store for you! And to think that years ago you possessed a distaste for politics!"
"It does seem ridiculous," said Walter, smiling. "I am always amused when I remember my very wilful ignorance on such matters. However, the credit of the conversion, if credit there be, is entirely owing to you and O'Connor."
"Not entirely, I'm thinking," said the old man. "I recollect your telling me of a conversation you had with Lady Caroline Mansergh, in which certain hopes were expressed and certain suggestions made, which, I should say, had their effect in influencing your conduct. Am I right, Walter?" And Mr. Byrne looked hard and keenly from under his bushy eyebrows at his young friend.
"Perfectly right!" said Walter, meeting his glance. "I think that the remembrance of Lady Caroline's advice, and the knowledge that she thought I had within me the power of distinguishing myself, were the first inducements to me to shake off that horrible lethargic state into which I had fallen!"
"Well, we must take care that you fulfil all her ladyship's expectations, Walter! What you are doing now must merely be a stepping-stone to something much better. I don't intend to die until I have seen you a leader in the people's cause, my boy! Oh, yes, I allow you're soundly with them now, and fight their battles well and effectively with the pen; but I want to live to see you in Parliament, to hear you riddling the plutocrats with your banter, and overwhelming the aristocrats with your scorn!"
"My dear old friend, I fear you pitch the note a little too high," said Joyce, with a laugh. "I don't think you will ever see me among the senators."
"And why not?" asked old Byrne, in a very excited manner—" and why not, pray? Is there any one speaks better at the Club? Is there any one more popular among the leaders of the cause, or with them? If those miserable Tories had not swallowed the leek fifty times in succession, as they have just done, and thereby succeeded in clinging to office for yet a few months, the chiefs of the party, or at least of one section of it—the 'ultras,' as they are good enough to call us would have relied greatly on your advice and assistance, and when the election comes, as come it must within a very short time, you will see how you will be in requisition. And about your position, Walter? I think we should look to that at once. I think you should lose no time in entering yourself at some Inn of Court, and commence reading for the bar!"
"Don't ask me to make any change in my life at present, old friend!" said Walter. "No!" as he saw the old man with an impatient gesture about to speak—"no, I was not going to plead the want of the money; for, in the first place, I know you would lend it to me, and in the second I am myself making, as you know, an excellent income. But I don't want to undertake anything more just now than what I am actually engaged in. I am quite sufficiently occupied—and I am very happy."
Old Byrne was compelled to be satisfied with this declaration, but he grumbled out that it should only be temporary, and that he intended to see Walter in a very different position before he died.
Walter Joyce said nothing more than the truth when he said that he was very happy. He had fallen into exactly the kind of life which suited him, the pursuance of a congenial occupation amongst companions of similar tastes. There are, I take it, but few of us professional plyers of the pen who do not look back with regret and with something akin to wonder
