ve taken for the purpose,
No.--High Street, Lambeth. I desire to have a small audience, not more
than twenty, consisting of working men who belong to Lambeth.
Attendance will be at my invitation, of course without any kind of
charge. You have been mentioned to me as one likely to be interested in
the subject I propose to deal with. I permit myself to send you a
printed syllabus of the course, and to say that it will give me great
pleasure if you are able to attend. I should like to arrange for two
lectures weekly, each of an hour's duration; the days I leave
undecided, also the hour, as I wish to adapt these to the convenience
of my hearers. If you feel inclined to give thought to the matter, will
you meet me at the lecture-room at eight o'clock on the evening of
Sunday, August 16, when we could discuss details? The lectures
themselves had better, I should think, begin with the month of
September.

'Reply to this is unnecessary; I hope to have the pleasure of meeting
you on the 16th.--Believe me to be yours very truly,

'WALTER EGREMONT.'

'Ah, this is what Ackroyd was speaking of on Saturday,' Gilbert
remarked, holding the letter to his mother. 'I wonder what it means.'

'Who is this Mr. Egremont?' asked Mrs. Grail.

'He belongs to the firm of Egremont & Pollard, so Ackroyd tells me. You
know that big factory in Westminster Bridge Road--where they make
oil-cloth.'

Gilbert was perusing the printed syllabus; it interested him, and he
kept it by his plate when he sat down to dinner.

'Do you think of going?' his mother inquired.

'Well, I should like to, if the lectures are good. I suppose he's a
young fellow fresh from college. He may have something to say, and he
may be only conceited; there's no knowing. Still, I don't dislike the
way he writes. Yes, I think I shall go and have a look at him, at all
events.'

Gilbert finished his meal and walked back to the factory. Groups of men
were standing about in the sunshine, waiting for the bell to ring; some
talked and joked, some amused themselves with horse-play. The narrow
street was redolent with oleaginous matter; the clothing of the men was
penetrated with the same nauseous odour.

At a little distance from the factory, Ackroyd was sitting on a
door-step, smoking a pipe. Grail took a seat beside him and drew from
his pocket the letter he had just received.

'I've got one of them, too,' Luke observed with small show of interest.
There was an unaccustomed