The Amateur Gentleman | Page 8

jolly young coal-heaver, Who down at
Hungerford used for to ply, His daddles he used with such skill and
dexterity Winning each mill, sir, and blacking each eye."
"Ha!--I should say, John, that Adam being in the habit o' going
about--well, as you might put it--in a free and easy, airy manner, fig
leaves an' suchlike, John,--I should say as he didn't have no call to be a
gentleman, seeing as there weren't any tailors."
"Tailors!" exclaimed John, staring. "Lord! and what have tailors got to
do wi' it, Natty Bell?"
"A great deal more than you 'd think, John; everything, John, seeing 't
was tailors as invented gentlemen as a matter o' trade, John. So, if
Barnabas wants to have a try at being one--he must first of all go
dressed in the fashion."
"That is very true," said Barnabas, nodding.
"Though," pursued Natty Bell, "if you were the best dressed, the
handsomest, the strongest, the bravest, the cleverest, the most
honorable man in the world--that wouldn't make you a gentleman. I tell
you, Barnabas, if you went among 'em and tried to be one of
'em,--they'd find you out some day an' turn their gentlemanly backs on
you."
"Ah," nodded John, "and serve you right, lad,--because if you should
try to turn yourself into a gentleman, why, Lord, Barnabas!--you'd only

be a sort of a amitoor arter all, lad."
"Then," said Barnabas, rising up from his chair and crossing with
resolute foot to the door, "then, just so soon as this law business is
settled and the money mine, an Amateur Gentleman I'll be."
CHAPTER III
HOW BARNABAS SET OUT FOR LONDON TOWN
It was upon a certain glorious morning, some three weeks later, that
Barnabas fared forth into the world; a morning full of the thousand
scents of herb and flower and ripening fruits; a morning glad with the
song of birds. And because it was still very early, the dew yet lay heavy,
it twinkled in the grass, it sparkled in the hedges, and gemmed every
leaf and twig with a flaming pendant. And amidst it all, fresh like the
morning and young like the sun, came Barnabas, who, closing the door
of the "Coursing Hound" behind him, leapt lightly down the stone steps
and, turning his back upon the ancient inn, set off towards that hill,
beyond which lay London and the Future. Yet--being gone but a very
little way--he halted suddenly and came striding back again. And
standing thus before the inn he let his eyes wander over its massive
crossbeams, its leaning gables, its rows of gleaming lattices, and so up
to the great sign swinging above the door--an ancient sign whereon a
weather-beaten hound, dim-legged and faded of tail, pursued a misty
blur that, by common report, was held to be a hare. But it was to a
certain casement that his gaze oftenest reverted, behind whose open
lattice he knew his father lay asleep, and his eyes, all at once, grew
suffused with a glittering brightness that was not of the morning, and
he took a step forward, half minded to clasp his father's hand once more
ere he set out to meet those marvels and wonders that lay waiting for
him over the hills--London-wards. Now, as he stood hesitating, he
heard a voice that called his name softly, and, glancing round and up,
espied Natty Bell, bare of neck and touzled of head, who leaned far out
from the casement of his bedchamber above.
"Ah, Barnabas, lad!" said he with a nod--"So you're going to leave us,

then?"
"Yes!" said Barnabas.
"And all dressed in your new clothes as fine as ever was!--stand back a
bit and let me have a look at you."
"How are they, Natty Bell?" inquired Barnabas with a note of anxiety
in his voice--"the Tenderden tailor assured me they were of the very
latest cut and fashion--what do you think, Natty Bell?"
"Hum!" said the ex-pugilist, staring down at Barnabas, chin in hand.
"Ha! they're very good clothes, Barnabas, yes indeed; just the very
thing--for the country."
"The country!--I had these made for London, Natty Bell."
"For London, Barnabas--hum!"
"What do you mean by 'hum,' Natty Bell?"
"Why--look ye now--'t is a good sensible coat, I'll not deny, Barnabas;
likewise the breeches is serviceable--but being only a coat and breeches,
why--they ain't per-lite enough. For in the world of London, the per-lite
world, Barnabas, clothes ain't garments to keep a man warm--they're
works of art; in the country a man puts 'em on, and forgets all about
'em--in the per-lite world he has 'em put on for him, and remembers 'em.
In the country a man wears his clothes, in the per-lite world his clothes
wears him, ah! and they're often the perlitest thing about him, too!"