“I hold that, whatever may be the means of a gentleman, he must be considered to lose the most precious advantages appertaining to his profession when he marries; for he loses his liberty, and can no longer be said to be under no control. It is very well for other professions to marry, as the world must be peopled; but a gentleman never should. It is true, he may contrive to leave his clog at home, but then he pays dear for a useless and galling appendage but, in my situation as a travelling tinker, I could not have done so; I must have dragged my clog after me through the mud and mire, and have had a very different reception than what I have at present.”
“Why so?”
“Why, a man may stroll about the country by himself—find lodging and entertainment for himself; but not so, if he had a wife in rags, and two or three dirty children at his heels. A single man, in every stage of society, if he pays his own way, more easily finds admission than a married one—that is, because the women regulate it and, although they will receive him as a tinker, they invariably object to his wife, who is considered and stigmatised as the tinker’s trull. No, that would not do—a wife would detract from my respectability, and add very much to my cares.”
“But have you no home, then, anywhere?”
“Why, yes, I have, like all single men on the pave, as the French say—just a sort of ‘chambers’ to keep my property in, which will accumulate in spite of me.”
“Where are they?”
“In Dudstone, to which place I am now going. I have a room for six pounds a year; and the woman in the house takes charge of everything during my absence. And now, my boy, what is your name?”
“Joey Atherton,” replied our hero, who had made up his mind to take the surname of his adopted sister, Nancy.
“Well, Joey, do you agree with me that my profession is a good one, and are you willing to learn it? If so, I will teach you.”
“I shall be very glad to learn it, because it may one day be useful; but I am not sure that I should like to follow it.”