“My dear fellow,” said Conyers, good-humoredly, “you never made a greater mistake. I begged that you would present me to your sister. I asked the sort of favor which is very common in the world, and in the language usually employed to convey such a request. I observed the recognized etiquette—”
“What do I know about etiquette? If you'd have said, 'Tom Dill, I want to be introduced to your sister,' I 'd have guessed what you were at, and I 'd have said, 'Come back in the boat with me to-morrow, and so you shall.'”
“It's a bargain, then, Dill. I want two or three things in the village, and I accept your offer gladly.”
Not only was peace now ratified between them, but a closer feeling of intimacy established; for poor Tom, not much spoiled by any excess of the world's sympathy, was so delighted by the kindly interest shown him, that he launched out freely to tell all about himself and his fortunes, how hardly treated he was at home, and how ill usage had made him despondent, and despondency made him dissolute. “It's all very well to rate a fellow about his taste for low pleasures and low companions; but what if he's not rich enough for better? He takes them just as he smokes cheap tobacco, because he can afford no other. And do you know,” continued he, “you are the first real gentleman that ever said a kind word to me, or asked me to sit down in his company. It's even so strange to me yet, that maybe when I 'm rowing home to-night I 'll think it's all a dream,—that it was the wine got into my head.”
“Is not some of this your own fault?” broke in Conyers. “What if you had held your head higher—”
“Hold my head higher!” interrupted Tom. “With this on it, eh?” And he took up his ragged and worn cap from the ground, and showed it. “Pride is a very fine thing when you can live up to it; but if you can't it's only ridiculous. I don't say,” added he, after a few minutes of silence, “but if I was far away from this, where nobody knew me, where I did n't owe little debts on every side, and was n't obliged to be intimate with every idle vagabond about—I don't say but I'd try to be something better. If, for instance, I could get into the navy—”
“Why not the army? You 'd like it better.”
“Ay! but it 's far harder to get into. There's many a rough fellow like myself aboard ship that they would n't take in a regiment. Besides, how could I get in without interest?”
“My father is a Lieutenant-General. I don't know whether he could be of service to you.”
“A Lieutenant-General!” repeated Tom, with the reverential awe of one alluding to an actual potentate.