"And all dressed in your new clothes as fine as ever was!—stand back a bit and let me have a look at you."
"How are they, Natty Bell?" inquired Barnabas with a note of anxiety in his voice—"the Tenderden tailor assured me they were of the very latest cut and fashion—what do you think, Natty Bell?"
"Hum!" said the ex-pugilist, staring down at Barnabas, chin in hand. "Ha! they're very good clothes, Barnabas, yes indeed; just the very thing—for the country."
"The country!—I had these made for London, Natty Bell."
"For London, Barnabas—hum!"
"What do you mean by 'hum,' Natty Bell?"
"Why—look ye now—'t is a good sensible coat, I'll not deny, Barnabas; likewise the breeches is serviceable—but being only a coat and breeches, why—they ain't per-lite enough. For in the world of London, the per-lite world, Barnabas, clothes ain't garments to keep a man warm—they're works of art; in the country a man puts 'em on, and forgets all about 'em—in the per-lite world he has 'em put on for him, and remembers 'em. In the country a man wears his clothes, in the per-lite world his clothes wears him, ah! and they're often the perlitest thing about him, too!"
"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!"