A Great Emergency and Other Tales | Page 5

of us was most like my father, and I can recall the big pinch
of snuff he took, and the sound of his voice saying "Be like your father,
boys! He was as good as he was gallant. And there never lived a more
honourable gentleman."
Every one said the same. We were very proud of it, and always boasted
about our father to the new nursemaids, or any other suitable hearer. I
was a good deal annoyed by one little maid, who when I told her, over
our nursery tea, that my father had been the most honourable of men,
began to cry about her father, who was dead too, and said he was "just
the same; for in the one and twenty years he kept a public-house, he
never put so much as a pinch of salt into the beer, nor even a gill of
water, unless it was in the evening at fair-time, when the only way to

keep the men from fighting was to give them their liquor so that it
could not do them much harm." I was very much offended by the
comparison of my father, who was an officer and a gentleman of rank,
with her father, who was a village publican; but I should like to say,
that I think now that I was wrong and Jane was right. If her father gave
up profit for principle, he was like my father, and like the ancestor we
get the motto from, and like every other honourable man, of any rank or
any trade.
Every time I boasted in the nursery of my father being so honourable, I
always finished my saying, that that was why he had the word
Honourable before his name, as men in old times used to be called "the
Good" or "the Lion Heart." The nursemaids quite believed it, and I
believed it myself, till the first week I went to school.
It makes me hot all over to remember what I suffered that week, and for
long, afterwards. But I think it cured me of bragging, which is a mean
ungentlemanly habit, and of telling everybody everything about myself
and my relations, which is very weak-minded.
The second day I was there, one of the boys came up to me and said,
with a mock ceremony and politeness which unfortunately took me in,
"If I am not mistaken, sir, that esteemed lady, your mother, is an
Honourable?"
He was nearly five years older than I; his name was Weston; he had a
thin cadaverous face, a very large nose, and a very melancholy
expression. I found out afterwards that he was commonly called "the
clown," and was considered by boys who had been to the London
theatres to surpass the best professional comic actors when he chose to
put forth his powers. I did not know this then. I thought him a little
formal, but particularly courteous in his manner, and not wishing to be
behindhand in politeness, I replied, with as much of his style as I could
assume, "Certainly, sir. But that is because my father was an
Honourable. My father, sir, was the most honourable of men."
A slight spasm appeared to pass over Weston's face, and then he
continued the conversation in a sadder tone than the subject seemed to

require, but I supposed that this was due to his recalling that my father
was dead.
I confess that it did not need many leading inquiries to draw from me
such a narrative of my father's valour and high principle, as well as the
noble sentiments and conspicuous bravery which have marked our
family from Saxon times, as I was well accustomed to pour forth for
the edification of our nursemaids. I had not proceeded far, when my
new friend said, "Won't you walk in and take a seat?" It was recreation
time, and the other boys were all out in the playground. I had no special
friend as yet; Rupert had stuck to me all the first day, and had now left
me to find my own level. I had lingered near the door as we came out,
and there Weston had joined me. He now led me back into the deserted
school-room, and we sat down together on an old black oak locker, at
the bottom of the room.
How well I remember the scene! The dirty floor, the empty benches,
the torn books sprinkled upon the battered desks, the dusty sunshine
streaming in, the white-faced clock on the wall opposite, over which
the hands moved with almost incredible rapidity. But when does time
ever fly so fast as with people who are talking about themselves or their
relations?
Once the mathematical master passed through the room. He glanced at
us curiously, but