"But a silk purse is ever and always a silk purse—empty or no,
Natty Bell."
"An' a man is always a man, John, which a gentleman often ain't."
"But surely," said Barnabas, speaking for the first time, "a gentleman is both."
"No—not nohow, my lad!" exclaimed John, beginning to rasp at his
chin again. "A man is ever and allus a man—like me and you, an'
Natty Bell, an' a gentleman's a gentleman like—Sir George
Annersley—up at the great house yonder."
"But—" began Barnabas.
"Now, Barnabas"—remonstrated his father, rasping his chin harder than ever—"wherefore argufy—if you do go for to argufy—"
"We come back to the silk purses and the sows' ears," added Natty Bell.
"And I believe," said Barnabas, frowning down at the empty hearth, "I'm sure, that gentility rests not so much on birth as upon hereditary instinct."
"Hey?" said his father, glancing at him from the corners of his eyes—"go easy, Barnabas, my lad—give it time—on what did 'ee say?"
"On instinct, father."