Then they had often discussed together the objects of their ambition and future prospects; then Tom Towers was struggling hard to maintain himself, as a briefless barrister, by shorthand reporting for any of the papers that would engage him; then he had not dared to dream of writing leaders for _The Jupiter_, or canvassing the conduct of Cabinet ministers.
Things had altered since that time: the briefless barrister was still briefless, but he now despised briefs: could he have been sure of a judge's seat, he would hardly have left his present career.

It is true he wore no ermine, bore no outward marks of a world's respect; but with what a load of inward importance was he charged! It is true his name appeared in no large capitals; on no wall was chalked up "Tom Towers for ever;"-- "Freedom of the Press and Tom Towers;" but what member of Parliament had half his power?
It is true that in far-off provinces men did not talk daily of Tom Towers but they read _The Jupiter_, and acknowledged that without _The Jupiter_ life was not worth having.

This kind of hidden but still conscious glory suited the nature of the man.

He loved to sit silent in a corner of his club and listen to the loud chattering of politicians, and to think how they all were in his power;--how he could smite the loudest of them, were it worth his while to raise his pen for such a purpose.

He loved to watch the great men of whom he daily wrote, and flatter himself that he was greater than any of them.