The Amateur Gentleman | Page 9

"I suppose," sighed Barnabas, "a man's clothes are very important--in
the fashionable world?"
"Important! They are the most importantest part o' the fashionable
world, lad. Now there's Mr. Brummell--him as they call the
'Beau'--well, he ain't exactly a Lord Nelson nor yet a Champion of
England, he ain't never done nothing, good, bad, or indifferent--but he
does know how to wear his clothes--consequently he's a very famous

gentleman indeed--in the per-lite world, Barnabas." Here there fell a
silence while Barnabas stared up at the inn and Natty Bell stared down
at him. "To be sure, the old 'Hound' ain't much of a place, lad--not the
kind of inn as a gentleman of quality would go out of his way to seek
and search for, p'r'aps--but there be worse places in London, Barnabas,
I was born there and I know. There, there! dear lad, never hang your
head--youth must have its dreams I've heard; so go your ways,
Barnabas. You're a master wi' your fists, thanks to John an' me--and
you might have been Champion of England if you hadn't set your heart
on being only a gentleman. Well, well, lad! don't forget as there are two
old cocks o' the Game down here in Kent as will think o' you and talk o'
you, Barnabas, and what you might have been if you hadn't happened
to--Ah well, let be. But wherever you go and whatever you come to
be--you're our lad still, and so, Barnabas, take this, wear it in memory
of old Natty Bell--steady--catch!" And, with the word, he tossed down
his great silver watch.
"Why, Natty Bell!" exclaimed Barnabas, very hoarse of voice. "Dear
old Natty--I can't take this!"
"Ah, but you can--it was presented to me twenty and one years ago,
Barnabas, the time I beat the Ruffian on Bexley Heath."
"But I can't--I couldn't take it," said Barnabas again, looking down at
the broad-faced, ponderous timepiece in his hand, which he knew had
long been Natty Bell's most cherished possession.
"Ay, but you can, lad--you must--'t is all I have to offer, and it may
serve to mind you of me, now and then, so take it! take it! And,
Barnabas, when you're tired o' being a fine gentleman up there in
London, why--come back to us here at the old 'Hound' and be content
to be just--a man. Good-by, lad; good-by!" saying which, Natty Bell
nodded, drew in his head and vanished, leaving Barnabas to stare up at
the closed lattice, with the ponderous timepiece ticking in his hand.
So, in a while, Barnabas slipped it into his pocket and, turning his back
upon the "Coursing Hound," began to climb that hill beyond which lay
the London of his dreams. Therefore as he went he kept his eyes lifted

up to the summit of the hill, and his step grew light, his eye brightened,
for Adventure lay in wait for him; Life beckoned to him from the
distance; there was magic in the air. Thus Barnabas strode on up the
hill full of expectancy and the blind confidence in destiny which is the
glory of youth.
Oh, Spirit of Youth, to whose fearless eyes all things are matters to
wonder at; oh, brave, strong Spirit of Youth, to whom dangers are but
trifles to smile at, and death itself but an adventure; to thee, since
failure is unknown, all things are possible, and thou mayest,
peradventure, make the world thy football, juggle with the stars, and
even become a Fine Gentleman despite thy country homespun--and
yet--
But as for young Barnabas, striding blithely upon his way, he might
verily have been the Spirit of Youth itself--head high, eyes a-dance, his
heart light as his step, his gaze ever upon the distance ahead, for he was
upon the road at last, and every step carried him nearer the fulfilment of
his dream.
"At Tonbridge he would take the coach," he thought, or perhaps hire a
chaise and ride to London like a gentleman. A gentleman! and here he
was whistling away like any ploughboy. Happily the road was deserted
at this early hour, but Barnabas shook his head at himself reproachfully,
and whistled no more--for a time.
But now, having reached the summit of the hill, he paused and turned
to look back. Below him lay the old inn, blinking in its many casements
in the level rays of the newly risen sun; and now, all at once, as he
gazed down at it from this eminence, it seemed, somehow, to have
shrunk, to have grown more weather-beaten and worn--truly never had
it looked so small and mean as it did at this moment. Indeed, he had
been wont to regard the "Coursing Hound" as the very embodiment of
what an English inn should be--but now! Barnabas sighed--which