Mr Barlow.—You mean, that if a poor man has money in his pocket, he can always exchange it for clothes, or food, or any other necessary?
Tommy.—Indeed, I do, sir.
Mr Barlow.—But whom must he buy them of? for according to your account, the rich never produce any of these things; therefore the poor, if they want to purchase them, can only do so of each other.
Tommy.—But, sir, I cannot think that is always the case; for I have been along with my mamma to shops, where there were fine powdered gentlemen and ladies that sold things to other people, and livery-servants, and young ladies that played on the harpsichord, like Miss Matilda.
Mr Barlow.—But, my good little friend, do you imagine that these fine powdered gentlemen and ladies made the things which they sold?
Tommy.—That, sir, I cannot tell, but I should rather imagine not; for all the fine people I have ever seen are too much afraid of spoiling their clothes to work.
Mr Barlow.—All that they do, then, is to employ poorer persons to work for them, while they only sell what is produced by their labour. So that still you see we reach no farther than this; the rich do nothing and produce nothing, and the poor everything that is really useful. Were there a whole nation of rich people, they would all be starved, like the Spaniard in the story, because no one would condescend to produce anything; and this would happen in spite of all their money, unless they had neighbours who were poorer to supply them. But a nation that was poor might be industrious, and gradually supply themselves with all they wanted; and then it would be of little consequence whether they had pieces of metal with heads upon them or not. But this conversation has lasted long enough at present; and, as you are now going to bed, I daresay Miss Simmons will be so good as to defer the remainder of her story until to-morrow.
The next day Tommy rose before his father and mother; and, as his imagination had been forcibly acted on by the description he had heard of the Arabian horsemen, he desired his little horse might be saddled, and that William, his father's man, would attend him upon a ride. Unfortunately for Tommy, his vivacity was greater than his reason, and his taste for imitation was continually leading him into some mischief or misfortune. He had no sooner been introduced into the acquaintance of genteel life, than
he threw aside all his former habits, and longed to distinguish himself as a most accomplished young gentleman. He was now, in turn, sickened and disgusted with fashionable affectation; and his mind, at leisure for fresh impressions, was ready to catch at the first new object which occurred. The idea, therefore, which presented itself to his mind, as soon as he opened his eyes, was that of being an Arabian horseman. Nothing, he imagined, could equal the pleasure of guiding a fiery steed over those immense and desolate wastes which he had heard described. In the meantime, as the country where he wished to exhibit was at too great a distance, he thought he might excite some applause even upon the common before his father's house.
Full of this idea he rose, put on his boots, and summoned William to attend him. William had been too much accustomed to humour all his caprices to make any difficulty of obeying him; and as he had often ridden out with his young master before, he did not foresee the least possible inconvenience. But the maternal care of Mrs Merton had made it an indispensable condition with her son, that he should never presume to ride with spurs; and she had strictly enjoined all the servants never to supply him with those dangerous accoutrements. Tommy had long murmured in secret at this prohibition, which seemed to imply a distrust of his abilities in horsemanship, which sensibly wounded his pride. But since he had taken it into his head to emulate the Arabs themselves, and perhaps excel them in their own art, he considered it as no longer possible to endure the disgrace. But, as he was no stranger to the strict injunction