“Ay, my dear Hal,” said his uncle, smiling at his look of amazement, “these are some of the things that young people must learn from experience. All the world do not agree in opinion about characters: you will hear the same person admired in one company, and blamed in another; so that we must still come round to the same point, ‘Judge for yourself.’”
Hal’s thoughts were, however, at present too full of the uniform to allow his judgment to act with perfect impartiality. As soon as their visit was over, and all the time they walked down the hill from Prince’s Building’s towards Bristol, he continued to repeat nearly the same arguments, which he had formerly used, respecting necessity, the uniform, and Lady Diana Sweepstakes. To all this Mr. Gresham made no reply, and longer had the young gentleman expatiated upon the subject, which had so strongly seized upon his imagination, had not his senses been forcibly assailed at this instant by the delicious odours and tempting sight of certain cakes and jellies in a pastrycook’s shop. “Oh, uncle,” said he, as his uncle was going to turn the corner to pursue the road to Bristol, “look at those jellies!” pointing to a confectioner’s shop. “I must buy some of those good things, for I have got some halfpence in my pocket.”
“Your having halfpence in your pocket is an excellent reason for eating,” said Mr. Gresham, smiling.
“But I really am hungry,” said Hal; “you know, uncle, it is a good while since breakfast.”
His uncle, who was desirous to see his nephews act without restraint, that he might judge their characters, bid them do as they pleased.
“Come, then, Ben, if you’ve any halfpence in your pocket.”
“I’m not hungry,” said Ben.
“I suppose that means that you’ve no halfpence,” said Hal, laughing, with the look of superiority which he had been taught to think the rich might assume towards those who were convicted either of poverty or economy.
“Waste not, want not,” said Ben to himself. Contrary to his cousin’s surmise, he happened to have two pennyworth of halfpence actually in his pocket.
At the very moment Hal stepped into the pastrycook’s shop, a poor, industrious man, with a wooden leg, who usually sweeps the dirty corner of the walk which turns at this spot to the Wells, held his hat to Ben, who, after glancing his eye at the petitioner’s well worn broom, instantly produced his twopence. “I wish I had more halfpence for you, my good man,” said he; “but I’ve only twopence.”