I asked him the way.
“Slug-shot,” says he.
’Twas the merest hint.
“Remove,” says he, darkly, “one slug-shot from the box with the star, an’ drop it,” says he, his left eye closed again, “in the box with the cross.”
And there I had it!
You must know that by my uncle’s severe direction I must never fail to appear at table in the evening save in the perfection of cleanliness as to face and hands and nails and teeth. “For what,” says he, “have Skipper Chesterfield t’ say on that p’int––underlined by Sir Harry? Volume II., page 24. A list o’ the ornamental accomplishments. ‘T’ be extremely clean in your person.’ 190 There you haves it––underlined by Sir Harry!” He would examine me keenly, every nail and tooth of me, accepting neither excuse nor apology, and would never sit with me until I had passed inspection. In the beginning, ’twas my uncle’s hand, laid upon me in virtuous chastisement, that persuaded me of the propriety of this genteel conduct; but presently, when I was grown used to the thing, ’twas fair impossible for me to approach the meat, in times of peace with place and weather, confronting no peril, hardship, laborious need, or discomfort, before this particular ornamental accomplishment had been indubitably achieved with satisfaction to my uncle and to myself.
My uncle had, moreover, righteously compelled, with precisely similar tactics as to the employment of his right hand, an attire in harmony with the cleanliness of my person. “For what,” says he, “have bully ol’ Skipper Chesterfield t’ say on that there little p’int? What have that there fashionable ol’ gentleman t’ hold––underlined by Sir Harry? Volume II, page 24. ‘A list o’ the ornamental accomplishments (without which no man livin’ can either please or rise in the world), which hitherto I fear ye wants,’” quotes he, most glibly, “‘an’ which only require your care an’ attention t’ possess.’ Volume II., page 24. ‘An’ perfeckly well dressed, accordin’ t’ the fashion, be that what it will.’ There you haves it,” says he, “an’ underlined by Sir Harry hisself!” ’Twas a boresome thing, to be sure, as a lad of eleven, to come from boyish occupations to this maidenly concern for appearances: but now, when I 191 am grown older, ’tis a delight to escape the sweat and uniform of the day’s work; and I am grateful to the broad hand that scorched my childish parts to teach me the value and pleasures of gentility.
At the same time, as you may believe, I was taught a manner of entering, in the way, by the hints of Sir Harry and the philosophy of the noble Lord Chesterfield, of a gentleman. It had to do with squared shoulders, the lift of the head, a strut, a proud and contemptuous glance. Many a night, as a child, when I fair fainted of vacancy and the steam and smell of salt pork was an agony hardly to be endured, I must prance in and out, to please my fastidious uncle, while he sat critical by the fire––in the unspeakable detachment of critics from the pressing needs (for example) of a man’s stomach––and indulged his artistic perceptions to their completest satisfaction. He would watch me from his easy-chair by the fire as though ’twere the most delectable occupation the mind of man might devise: leaning forward in absorption, his ailing timber comfortably bestowed, his great head cocked, like a canary-bird’s, his little eyes watchful and sparkling.
“Once again, Dannie,” says he. “Head throwed higher, lad. An’ ye might use yer chest a bit more.”