The Broad Highway | Page 5

it vanished over distant
Shooter's Hill.
"And pray," said Sir Richard, still frowning at the ceiling, "what do you
propose to do with yourself?"

Now, as I looked out upon this fair evening, I became, of a sudden,
possessed of an overmastering desire, a great longing for field and
meadow and hedgerow, for wood and coppice and shady stream, for
sequestered inns and wide, wind-swept heaths, and ever the broad
highway in front. Thus I answered Sir Richard's question unhesitatingly,
and without turning from the window:
"I shall go, sir, on a walking tour through Kent and Surrey into
Devonshire, and thence probably to Cornwall."
"And with a miserable ten guineas in your pocket? Preposterous
--absurd!" retorted Sir Richard.
"On the contrary, sir," said I, "the more I ponder the project, the more
enamored of it I become."
"And when your money is all gone--how then?"
"I shall turn my hand to some useful employment," said I; "digging, for
instance."
"Digging!" ejaculated Sir Richard, "and you a scholar--and what is
more, a gentleman!"
"My dear Sir Richard," said I, "that all depends upon how you would
define a gentleman. To me he would appear, of late years, to have
degenerated into a creature whose chief end in life is to spend money
he has never earned, to reproduce his species with a deplorable
frequency and promiscuity, habitually to drink more than is good for
him, and, between whiles, to fill in his time hunting, cock-fighting, or
watching entranced while two men pound each other unrecognizable in
the prize ring. Occasionally he has the good taste to break his neck in
the hunting field, or get himself gloriously shot in a duel, but the
generality live on to a good old age, turn their attention to matters
political and, following the dictates of their class, damn reform with a
whole-hearted fervor equalled only by their rancor."
"Deuce take me!" ejaculated Sir Richard feebly, while Mr. Grainger

buried his face in his pocket-handkerchief.
"To my mind," I ended, "the man who sweats over a spade or follows
the tail of a plough is far nobler and higher in the Scheme of Things
than any of your young 'bloods' driving his coach and four to Brighton
to the danger of all and sundry."
Sir Richard slowly got up out of his chair, staring at me open-mouthed.
"Good God!" he exclaimed at last, "the boy's a Revolutionary."
I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, but, before I could speak, Mr.
Grainger interposed, sedate and solemn as usual:
"Referring to your proposed tour, Mr. Peter, when do you expect to
start?"
"Early to-morrow morning, sir."
"I will not attempt to dissuade you, well knowing the difficulty," said
he, with a faint smile, "but a letter addressed to me at Lincoln's Inn will
always find me and receive my most earnest attention." So saying, he
rose, bowed, and having shaken my hand, left the room, closing the
door behind him.
"Peter," exclaimed the baronet, striding up and down, "Peter, you are a
fool, sir, a hot-headed, self-sufficient, pragmatical young fool, sir, curse
me!"
"I am sorry you should think so," I answered.
"And," he continued, regarding me with a defiant eye, "I shall expect
you to draw upon me for any sum that--that you may require for the
present--friendship's sake--boyhood and--and all that sort of thing,
and--er--oh, damme, you understand, Peter?"
"Sir Richard," said I, grasping his unwilling hand, "I--I thank you from
the bottom of my heart."
"Pooh, Peter, dammit!" said he, snatching his hand away and thrusting

it hurriedly into his pocket, out of farther reach.
"Thank you, sir," I reiterated; "be sure that should I fall ill or any
unforeseen calamity happen to me, I will most gladly, most gratefully
accept your generous aid in the spirit in which it is offered, but--"
"But?" exclaimed Sir Richard.
"Until then--"
"Oh, the devil!" said Sir Richard, and ringing the bell ordered his horse
to be brought to the door, and thereafter stood with his back to the
empty fireplace, his fists thrust down into his pockets, frowning heavily
and with a fixed intentness at the nearest armchair.
Sir Richard Anstruther is tall and broad, ruddy of face, with a
prominent nose and great square chin whose grimness is offset by a
mouth singularly sweet and tender, and the kindly light of blue eyes; he
is in very truth a gentleman. Indeed, as he stood there in his plain blue
coat with its high roll collar and shining silver buttons, his spotless
moleskins and heavy, square-toed riding boots, he was as fair a type as
might be of the English country gentleman. It is such men as he, who,
fearless upon the littered quarterdecks of reeling battleships,
undismayed amid the smoke and death of stricken fields, their duty
well