The Amateur Gentleman | Page 5

the place rang again, which of itself
stung Barnabas sharper than any blow could have done.
But now having had his laugh out, John Barty frowned again blacker
than ever, and resting his two hands upon the table, leaned towards
Barnabas with his great, square chin jutted forward, and his deep-set
eyes narrowed to shining slits--the "fighting face" that had daunted
many a man ere now.
"So you want to be a gentleman--hey?"

"Yes."
"You aren't crazed in your 'ead, are ye, Barnabas?"
"Not that I know of, father."
"This here fortun' then--it's been an' turned your brain, that's what it is."
Barnabas smiled and shook his head.
"Listen, father," said he, "it has always been the dream and ambition of
my life to better my condition, to strive for a higher place in the
world--to be a gentleman. This was why I refused to become a pugilist,
as you and Natty Bell desired, this was why I worked and studied--ah!
a great deal harder than you ever guessed--though up till to-day I hardly
dared hope my dream would ever be realized--but now--"
"Now you want to go to London and be a gentleman--hey?"
"Yes."
"Which all comes along o' your reading o' fool book! Why, Lord! you
can no more become a gentleman than I can or the--blunderbuss yonder.
And because why? Because a gentleman must be a gentleman born, and
his father afore him, and his father afore him. You, Barnabas, you was
born the son of a Champion of England, an' that should be enough for
most lads; but your head's chock full o' fool's notions an' crazy fancies,
an' as your lawful father it's my bounden duty to get 'em out again,
Barnabas my lad." So saying, John Barty proceeded to take off his coat
and belcher neckerchief, and rolled his shirt sleeves over his mighty
forearms, motioning Barnabas to do the like.
"A father's duty be a very solemn thing, Barnabas," he continued
slowly, "an' your 'ead being (as I say) full o' wild idees, I'm going to try
to punch 'em out again as a well-meaning father should, so help me
back wi' the table out o' the road, an' off wi' your coat and neckercher."
Well knowing the utter futility of argument with his father at such a

time, Barnabas obediently helped to set back the table, thus leaving the
floor clear, which done, he, in turn, stripped off coat and neckcloth, and
rolled up his sleeves, while his father watched him with sharply
appraising eye.
"You peel well, Barnabas," he nodded. "You peel like a fighting man,
you've a tidy arm an' a goodish spread o' shoulder, likewise your legs is
clean an' straight, but your skin's womanish, Barnabas, womanish, an'
your muscles soft wi' books. So, lad!--are ye ready? Then come on."
Thus, without more ado they faced each other foot to foot, bare-armed
and alert of eye. For a moment they sparred watchfully, then John
Barty feinted Barnabas into an opening, in that same moment his fist
shot out and Barnabas measured his length on the floor.
"Ah--I knowed as much!" John sighed mournfully as he aided Barnabas
to his feet, "and 't were only a love-tap, so to speak,--this is what comes
o' your book reading."
"Try me again," said Barnabas.
"It'll be harder next time!" said his father.
"As hard as you like!" nodded Barnabas.
Once more came the light tread of quick-moving feet, once more John
Barty feinted cunningly--once more his fist shot out, but this time it
missed its mark, for, ducking the blow, Barnabas smacked home two
lightning blows on his father's ribs and danced away again light and
buoyant as a cork.
"Stand up an' fight, lad!" growled his father, "plant your feet
square--never go hopping about on your toe-points like a French
dancing-master."
"Why as to that, father, Natty Bell, as you know, holds that it is the
quicker method," here Barnabas smote his father twice upon the ribs,
"and indeed I think it is," said he, deftly eluding the ex-champion's

return.
"Quicker, hey?" sneered his father, and with the words came his fist--to
whizz harmlessly past Barnabas's ear--"we'll prove that."
"Haven't we had almost enough?" inquired Barnabas, dropping his fists.
"Enough? why we aren't begun yet, lad."
"Then how long are we to go on?"
"How long?" repeated John, frowning; "why--that depends on you,
Barnabas."
"How on me, father?"
"Are ye still minded to go to London?"
"Of course."
"Then we'll go on till you think better of it--or till you knock me down,
Barnabas my lad."
"Why then, father, the sooner I knock you down the better!"
"What?" exclaimed John Barty, staring, "d' ye mean to say--you think
you can?--me?--you?"
"Yes," nodded Barnabas.
"My poor lad!" sighed his father, "your head's fair crazed, sure