Thus Mr. Samuel Bennett Barmby, as he stood swaying forward upon his
toes, his boots creaking. Nancy and Jessica listened to him. They
were ready to start on the evening's expedition, but Horace had not
yet come home, and on the chance of his arrival they would wait a
few minutes longer.

'I shall make this the subject of a paper for our Society next
winter--the Age of Progress. And with special reference to one
particular--the Press. Only think now, of the difference between
our newspapers, all our periodicals of to-day, and those fifty years
ago. Did you ever really consider, Miss. Morgan, what a marvellous
thing one of our great newspapers really is? Printed in another way
it would make a volume--absolutely; a positive volume; packed with
thought and information. And all for the ridiculous price of one
penny!'

He laughed; a high, chuckling, crowing laugh; the laugh of
triumphant optimism. Of the man's sincerity there could be no
question; it beamed from his shining forehead, his pointed nose;
glistened in his prominent eyes. He had a tall, lank figure,
irreproachably clad in a suit of grey: frock coat, and waistcoat
revealing an expanse of white shirt. His cuffs were magnificent, and
the hands worthy of them. A stand-up collar, of remarkable
stiffness, kept his head at the proper level of self-respect.

'By the bye, Miss. Lord, are you aware that the Chinese Empire, with
four _hundred_ MILLION inhabitants, has only _ten_ daily papers?
Positively; only ten.'