The Amateur Gentleman | Page 2

Justifies his New Name.
XLIX Which, being Somewhat Important, is Consequently Short.

L In which Ronald Barrymaine Speaks his Mind.
LI Which Tells How and Why Mr. Shrig's Case was Spoiled.
LII Of a Breakfast, a Roman Parent, and a Kiss.
LIII In which shall be Found some Account of the Gentleman's
Steeplechase.
LIV Which Concerns itself Chiefly with a Letter.
LV Which Narrates Sundry Happenings at Oakshott's Barn.
LVI Of the Gathering of the Shadows.
LVII Being a Parenthetical Chapter on Doubt, which, though
Uninteresting, is very Short.
LVIII How Viscount Devenham Found him a Viscountess.
LIX Which Relates, among other Things, How Barnabas Lost his Hat.
LX Which Tells of a Reconciliation.
LXI How Barnabas Went to his Triumph.
LXII Which Tells How Barnabas Triumphed in Spite of All.
LXIII Which Tells How Barnabas Heard the Ticking of a Clock.
LXIV Which Shows Something of the Horrors of Remorse.
LXV Which Tells How Barnabas Discharged his Valet.
LXVI Of Certain Con-clusions Drawn by Mr. Shrig.
LXVII Which Gives some Account of the Worst Place in the World.
LXVIII Concerning the Identity of Mr. Bimby's Guest.

LXIX How Barnabas Led a Hue and Cry.
LXX Which Tells How Barnabas Rode Another Race.
LXXI Which Tells How Barnabas, in his Folly, Chose the Harder
Course.
LXXII How Ronald Barrymaine Squared his Account.
LXXIII Which Recounts Three Awakenings.
LXXIV How the Duchess Made up her Mind, and Barnabas Did the
Like.
LXXV Which Tells Why Barnabas Forgot his Breakfast.
LXXVI How the Viscount Proposed a Toast.
LXXVII How Barnabas Rode Homewards, and Took Counsel of a
Pedler of Books.
LXXVIII Which Tells How Barnabas Came Home Again, and How he
Awoke for the Fourth Time.

ILLUSTRATIONS
Barnabas frowned, tore the letter across in sudden fury, and looked up
to find Cleone frowning also.
"Man Jack, 't is proud you should be to lie there."
"Oh, sir, I grieve to disappoint you," said she, and rose.
"Let me pass, I warn you!" For a minute they fronted each other, eye to
eye.
"But this is murder--positive murder!" cried Mr. Dalton.

Sir Mortimer paused, and with a sudden gesture tore the rose from his
coat and tossed it away.
"So you meant to buy me, sir, as you would a horse or dog?"
All at once, Sir Mortimer was on his feet and had caught up a heavy
riding-whip.
Barnabas espied a face amid the hurrying throng
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH BABNABAS KNOCKS DOWN HIS FATHER,
THOUGH AS DUTIFULLY AS MAY BE
John Barty, ex-champion of England and landlord of the "Coursing
Hound," sat screwed round in his chair with his eyes yet turned to the
door that had closed after the departing lawyer fully five minutes ago,
and his eyes were wide and blank, and his mouth (grim and
close-lipped as a rule) gaped, becoming aware of which, he closed it
with a snap, and passed a great knotted fist across his brow.
"Barnabas," said he slowly, "I beant asleep an' dreaming be I,
Barnabas?"
"No, father!"
"But--seven--'undred--thousand--pound. It were seven--'undred
thousand pound, weren't it, Barnabas?"
"Yes, father!"
"Seven--'undred--thou--! No! I can't believe it, Barnabas my bye."
"Neither can I, father," said Barnabas, still staring down at the papers
which littered the table before him.
"Nor I aren't a-going to try to believe it, Barnabas."

"And yet--here it is, all written down in black and white, and you heard
what Mr. Crabtree said?"
"Ah,--I heered, but arter all Crabtree's only a lawyer--though a good un
as lawyers go, always been honest an' square wi' me--leastways I 've
never caught him trying to bamboozle John Barty yet--an' what the eye
don't ob-serve the heart don't grieve, Barnabas my bye, an' there y'are.
But seven 'undred thousand pound is coming it a bit too strong--if he'd
ha' knocked off a few 'undred thousand I could ha' took it easier
Barnabas, but, as it is--no, Barnabas!"
"It's a great fortune!" said Barnabas in the same repressed tone and with
his eyes still intent.
"Fortun'," repeated the father, "fortun'--it's fetched me one in the
ribs--low, Barnabas, low!--it's took my wind an' I'm a-hanging on to the
ropes, lad. Why, Lord love me! I never thought as your uncle Tom 'ad
it in him to keep hisself from starving, let alone make a fortun'! My
scapegrace brother Tom--poor Tom as sailed away in a emigrant ship
(which is a un-common bad kind of a ship to sail in--so I've heered,
Barnabas) an' now, to think as he went an' made all that fortun'--away
off in Jamaiky--out o' vegetables."
"And lucky speculation, father--!"
"Now, Barnabas," exclaimed his father, beginning to rasp his fingers to
and fro across his great, square, shaven chin, "why argufy? Your uncle
Tom was a planter--very well! Why is a man a planter--because he
plants things, an'