CHAPTER VI.
It was one Sunday forenoon, on such a sunny day as slovenly men seize upon to wash their feet and have it over, that Andrew set out to call on Mr.Labouchere.
The leaves in the squares were green, and the twittering of the birds among the boughs was almost gay enough to charm him out of the severity of countenance which a Scotchman wears on a Sunday with his blacks.
Andrew could not help regarding the mother-of-pearl sky as a favourable omen.

Several times he caught himself becoming light-hearted.
He got the great Radical on the door-step, just setting out for church.
The two men had not met before, but Andrew was a disciple in the school in which the other taught.
Between man and man formal introductions are humbug.
Andrew explained in a few words the nature of his visit, and received a cordial welcome.
"But I could call again," he said, observing the hymn-book in the other's hand.
"Nonsense," said Mr.Labouchere heartily; "it must be business before pleasure.

Mind the step." So saying, he led his visitor into a cheerful snuggery at the back of the house.

It was furnished with a careful contempt for taste, and the first thing that caught Andrew's eye was a pot of apple jam on a side table.
"I have no gum," Mr.Labouchere explained hastily.
A handsomely framed picture, representing Truth lying drowned at the bottom of a well, stood on the mantel-piece; indeed, there were many things in the room that, on another occasion, Andrew would have been interested to hear the history of.
He could not but know, however, that at present he was to some extent an intruder, and until he had fully explained his somewhat delicate business he would not feel at ease.
Though argumentative, Andrew was essentially a shy, proud man.
It was very like Mr.Labouchere to leave him to tell his story in his own way, only now and then, at the outset, interjecting a humorous remark, which we here omit.
"I hope," said Andrew earnestly, "that you will not think it fulsome on my part to say how much I like you.

In your public utterances you have let it be known what value you set on pretty phrases; but I speak the blunt truth, as you have taught it.