know much about it. If
I had made a fortune by other people's work, I think I should like some
of them to live in Hampstead too. But you see, I'm prejudiced."

Sidney Geary looked at the boy as though he had heard a heresy. To him
the gospel of life meant a yearly dole of coals at Christmas and a bout
of pleasant "charity organizations" during the winter months. He would
as soon have questioned the social position of the Archbishop of
Canterbury as have criticised the conduct and the acts of the
manufacturers who supported his church so generously.

"I am afraid you have received some pernicious teaching down yonder," he
said, with a shake of his abundant locks. "Mr. Gessner, I may tell you,
has an abhorrence of socialism. If you wish to please him, avoid the
topic."

"But I do not wish to please him--I do not even know him. And I'm not a
socialist, sir. If Mr. Gessner had ever lived in Whitechapel; if he had
starved in a garret, he would understand me. I don't suppose it matters,
though, whether he does or not, for we are hardly likely to discuss such
things together."

"My dear lad, he has not sent for you for that, believe me. His
conversation will be altogether of a different nature. Let me implore
you to remember that he desires to be your benefactor--not your judge.
There is no kinder heart, no more worthy gentleman in all London to-day
than Richard Gessner. That much I know and my opportunities are unique."

Alban could make no reply to this; nor did he desire one. They had
passed the Jack Straw's Castle by this time, and now the carriage
entered a small circular drive upon the right-hand side of the road and
drew up before a modern red-bricked mansion, by no means ostentatious or
externally characteristic of the luxury for which its interior was
famed. Just a trim garden surrounded the house and boasted trees
sufficient to hide the picturesque gables from the eyes of the curious.
There were stables in the northern wing and a great conservatory built
out toward the south. Alban had but an instant to glance at the
beautiful facade when a young butler opened the door to them and ushered
them into a vast hall, panelled to the ceiling in oak and dimly lighted
by Gothic windows of excellent stained glass. Here a silence, amazing in
its profundity, permitted the very ticking of the clocks to be heard.
All sounds from without, the hoot of the motors, the laughter of
children, the grating voices of loafers on the He