“There certainly is no reason in looking with interest at a parcel of vagabonds,” returned Bounderby. “When I was a vagabond myself, nobody looked with any interest at me ; I know that.”

“Then comes the question,” said the eminently practical father, with his eyes on the fire, “in what has this vulgar curiosity its rise?”

“I’ll tell you in what. In idle imagination.”

“I hope not,” said the eminently practical; “I confess, however, that the misgiving has crossed me on my way home.”