“Gentlemen! To the Queen! God bless her!”
As they neared London they talked plans.
“First,” said Thompson, “our distinguished visitor must have some clothes.”
Frederick wondered whom he was talking about, but Buffum, his eyes on Frederick, nodded his head thoughtfully.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he murmured. Then they both looked at Frederick and he shifted uneasily. Answering the unspoken question in his face, Thompson explained.
“You are becoming something of a celebrity. You will be going to dinners and teas. You must have proper apparel.”
“But—” Frederick began, flushed and downcast.
“You are now in the employ of the World Anti-Slavery Society,” Thompson went on, “our chief and most effective spokesman. In the interest of the entire cause you must make what the French call the good impression.”
Now Frederick’s apprehensions began to mount. How could he go into English “society”?
“Clothes do not make a gentleman,” he said, shaking his head violently. “I am a workingman. I will speak—yes—anywhere. I will tell the meaning of slavery, I will do anything, but I have no manners or ways for society.”