Edward Henry Machin first saw the smoke on the 27th May 1867, in Brougham Street, Bursley, themost ancient of the Five Towns. Brougham Street runs down from St Luke's Square straight into theShropshire Union Canal, and consists partly of buildings known as "potbanks" (until they come tobe sold by auction, when auctioneers describe them as "extensive earthenware manufactories") andpartly of cottages whose highest rent is four-and-six a week. In such surroundings was anextraordinary man born. He was the only anxiety of a widowed mother, who gained her livelihoodand his by making up "ladies' own materials" in ladies' own houses. Mrs Machin, however, had aspeciality apart from her vocation: she could wash flannel with less shrinking than any other womanin the district, and she could wash fine lace without ruining it; thus often she came to sew andremained to wash. A somewhat gloomy woman; thin, with a tongue! But I liked her. She saved acertain amount of time every day by addressing her son as Denry, instead of Edward Henry.Not intellectual, not industrious, Denry would have maintained the average dignity of labour on apotbank had he not at the age of twelve won a scholarship from the Board School to the EndowedSchool. He owed his triumph to audacity rather than learning, and to chance rather than design. Onthe second day of the examination he happened to arrive in the examination-room ten minutes toosoon for the afternoon sitting. He wandered about the place exercising his curiosity, and reached themaster's desk. On the desk was a tabulated form with names of candidates and the number of marksachieved by each in each subject of the previous day. He had done badly in geography, and sawseven marks against his name, in the geographical column, out of a possible thirty. The figures hadbeen written in pencil. The pencil lay on the desk. He picked it up, glanced at the door and at therows of empty desks, and wrote a neat "2" in front of the 7; then he strolled innocently forth andcame back late. His trick ought to have been found out-the odds were against him-but it was notfound out. Of course it was dishonest. Yes, but I will not agree that Denry was uncommonlyvicious. Every schoolboy is dishonest, by the adult standard. If I knew an honest schoolboy I wouldbegin to count my silver spoons as he grew up. All is fair between schoolboys and schoolmasters.This dazzling feat seemed to influence not only Denry's career but also his character. He graduallycame to believe that he had won the scholarship by genuine merit, and that he was a remarkable boyand destined to great ends. His new companions, whose mothers employed Denry's mother, alsobelieved that he was a remarkable boy; but they did not forget, in their gentlemanly way, to call him"washer-woman." Happily Denry did not mind.