Why, it 's worth twelve hundred at least,
mother!"

"What a boy it is!" said she, laughing. "I merely gave him his right to
claim the one hundred that he advanced, Tony dear; and my note to
Sir Arthur was to ask him to have the bond, or whatever it is called,
rightly drawn up and witnessed, and at the same time to thank him
heartily for his own kind readiness to serve me."

"I hate a mortgage, mother. I don't feel as if the place was our own any
longer."

"Your father's own words, eighteen years ago, when he drew all the money
he had out of the agent's hands, and paid off the debt on this little
spot here. 'Nelly,' said he, 'I can look out of the window now, and not
be afraid of seeing a man coming ap the road to ask for his interest.'"

"It's the very first thing I 'll try to do, is to pay off that debt,
mother. Who knows but I may be able before the year is over! But I am
glad you did n't take it from Sir Arthur."

"You're as proud as your father, Tony," said she, with her eyes full of
tears; "take care that you're as good as he was too."

CHAPTER XXXVI. A CORNER IN DOWNING STREET

When Tony Butler found himself inside of the swinging glass-door at
Downing Street, and in presence of the august Mr. Willis, the porter, it
seemed as if all the interval since he had last stood in the same place
had been a dream. The head-porter looked up from his "Times," and with
a severity that showed he had neither forgotten nor forgiven, said,
"Messengers' room--first pair--corridor--third door on the left." There
was an unmistakable dignity in the manner of the speaker which served
to show Tony not merely that his former offence remained unpardoned, but
that his entrance into public life had not awed or impressed in any way
the stern official.

Tony passed on, mounted the stairs, and sauntered along a very ill-kept
corridor, not fully certain whether it was the third, fourth, or fifth
door he was in search of, or on what hand. After about half an hour
passed in the hope of seeing one to direct him, he made bold to knock
gently at a door. To his repeated summons no answer was returned, and he
tried another, when a shrill voice cried, "Come in." He entered, and saw
a slight, sickly-looking youth, very elaborately dressed, seated at a
table, writing. The room was a large one, very dirty, ill-furnished, and
disorderly.

"Well, what is it?" asked the young gentleman, without lifting his head
or his eyes from the desk.

"