“All ye need now is a small sponge an' some tissue-paper, an' here's a piece o' chamois that ye can have an' welcome.”
He explained his method of applying the Sal, and presently handed me his card, on which I read this legend:
JAMES HENRY MCCARTHY
Commercial Traveller
Hermon Centre, N. Y.
“I ain't much there,” he went on. “The boys call me Pegleg at home, an' that's one reason I got out. I wish you'd call me Mr. McCarthy, please. I intend to be a gentleman, an' try to be. Can you tell me what a gentleman is?”
I looked thoughtful and said nothing. Mr. McCarthy continued:
“He's a man that don't git drunk or swear or pare his nails in public, an' always takes off his hat to a lady. He washes his hands before he goes to the table, an' eats kind o' slow an' deliberate, an' maybe smokes a fine cigar after dinner, 'an always does as he'd like to be done by. That's why I'm tryin' to help you along.”
I expressed my gratitude in no half-hearted way.
“I like you, dinged if I don't,” said Mr. McCarthy, with a kindly patronage. “You'll git along all right—don't worry.”