?" said Robinson. "When a man's card comes
to be of use to him, the thing's done. He's living in his villa by
that time, and has his five thousand a-year out of the profits."

"I hope you'll both have your willas before long," said Brown, trying
to keep his partners in good humour. "But a cottage _horney_ will be
enough for me. I'd like to be able to give my children their bit of
dinner on Sunday hot and comfortable. I want no more than that."

That was a hard battle, and it resulted in no victory. The dingy shop
in Little Britain was, of course, out of the question; and Mr. Brown
assisted Robinson in preventing that insane attempt at aping the
unprofitable glories of Regent Street. The matter ended in another
compromise, and a house was taken in Bishopsgate Street, of which
the frontage was extensive and commanding, but as to which it must
certainly be confessed that the back part of the premises was
inconveniently confined.

"It isn't exactly all I could wish," said Robinson, standing on
the pavement as he surveyed it. "But it will do. With a little
originality and some dash, we'll make it do. We must give it a name."

"A name?" said Mr. Brown; "it's 81, Bishopsgate Street; ain't it?
They don't call houses names in London."

"That's just why we'll have a name for ours, Mr. Brown."

"The 'Albert Emporium,'" suggested Jones; "or 'Victoria Mart.'"

Mr. Jones, as will be seen, was given to tuft-hunting to the
backbone. His great ambition was to have a lion and unicorn, and to
call himself haberdasher to a royal prince. He had never realized the
fact that profit, like power, comes from the people, and not from
the court. "I wouldn't put up the Queen's arms if the Queen came and
asked me," Robinson once said in answer to him. "That game has been
played out, and it isn't worth the cost of the two wooden figures."

"'The Temple of Fashion' would do very well," said Jones.

"The Temple of Fiddlestick!" said Robinson.

"Of course you say so," said Jones.

"Let dogs delight--" began Mr. Brown, standing as we were in the
middle of the street.

"I'll tell you what," said Robinson; "there's nothing like colour.
We'll call it Magenta House, and we'll paint it magenta from the roof
to the window tops."

This beautiful tint had only then been invented, and it was necessary
to explain the word to Mr. Brown. He merely remarked that the oil and
paint would come to a deal of money, and then gave way. Jones was
struck dumb