staring round eyes, and heavy face, and dirty hands, and ugly
bald head! There is a baldness that is handsome and noble, and a
baldness that is peculiarly mean and despicable. Neefit's baldness
was certainly of the latter order. Now Moggs senior, who was grey and
not bald, was not bad looking,--at a little distance. His face when
closely inspected was poor and greedy, but the general effect at a
passing glance was not contemptible. Moggs might have been a banker,
or an officer in the Commissariat, or a clerk in the Treasury. A
son-in-law would have had hopes of Moggs. But nothing of the kind was
possible with Neefit. One would be forced to explain that he was a
respectable tradesman in Conduit Street in order that he might not be
taken for a dealer in potatoes from Whitechapel. He was hopeless. And
yet he had taken upon himself the absolute management of all Ralph
Newton's affairs!

Ralph was very unhappy, and in his misery he went to Sir Thomas's
chambers. This was about four o'clock in the day, at which hour Sir
Thomas was almost always in his rooms. But Stemm with much difficulty
succeeded in making him believe that the lawyer was not at home.
Stemm at this time was much disturbed by his master's terrible
resolution to try the world again, to stand for a seat in Parliament,
and to put himself once more in the way of work and possible
promotion. Stemm had condemned the project,--but, nevertheless,
took glory in it. What if his master should become,--should
become anything great and magnificent. Stemm had often groaned in
silence,--had groaned unconsciously, that his master should be
nothing. He loved his master thoroughly,--loving no one else in
the whole world,--and sympathised with him acutely. Still he had
condemned the project. "There's so many of them, Sir Thomas, as
is only wanting to put their fingers into somebody's eyes." "No
doubt, Stemm, no doubt," said Sir Thomas; "and as well into mine as
another's." "That's it, Sir Thomas." "But I'll just run down and
see, Stemm." And so it had been settled. Stemm, who had always hated
Ralph Newton, and who now regarded his master's time as more precious
than ever, would hardly give any answer at all to Ralph's enquiries.
His master might be at home at Fulham,--probably was. Where should
a gentleman so likely be as at home,--that is, when he wasn't in
chambers? "Anyways, he's not here," said Stemm, bobbing his head, and
holding the door ready to close it. Ralph was con