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who's content the most, I, you, or Simpkin?" So the polished snob, The elder man, refinement every inch From brow to boot-end, quietly replies: "Simpkin's no name I know. I had my whim." "Ay, had you! And such things make friendship thick. Intimates I may boast we were; henceforth, Friends—shall it not be?—who discard reserve, Use plain words, put each dot upon each i, Till death us twain do part? The bargain's struck! Old fellow, if you fancy—(to begin—) I felled to penetrate your scheme last week, You wrong your poor disciple. Oh, no airs! Because you happen to be twice my age And twenty times my master, must perforce No blink of daylight struggle through the web There's no unwinding? You entoil my legs, And welcome, for I like it: blind me,—no! A very pretty piece of shuttle-work Was that—your mere chance question at the club— 'Do you go anywhere this Whitsuntide? I'm off for Paris, there's the Opera—there's The Salon, there's a china-sale,—beside Chantilly; and, for good companionship, There's Such-and-such and So-and-so. Suppose We start together?' 'No such holiday!' I told you: 'Paris and the rest be hanged! Why plague me who am pledged to home-delights? I'm the engaged now; through whose fault but yours? On duty. As you well know. Don't I drowse The week away down with the Aunt and Niece? No help: it's leisure, loneliness and love. Wish I could take you; but fame travels fast,— A man of much newspaper-paragraph, You scare domestic circles; and beside Would not you like your lot, that second taste Of nature and approval of the grounds! You might walk early or lie late, so shirk Week-day devotions: but stay Sunday o'er, And morning church is obligatory: No mundane garb permissible, or dread The butler's privileged monition! No! Pack off to Paris, nor wipe tear away!' Whereon how artlessly the happy flash Followed, by inspiration! 'Tell you what— Let's turn their flank, try things on t'other side! Inns for my money! Liberty's the life! We'll lie in hiding: there's the crow-nest nook, The tourist's joy, the Inn they rave about, Inn that's out—out of sight and out of mind And out of mischief to all four of us— Aunt and niece, you and me. At night arrive; At morn, find time for just a Pisgah-view Of my friend's Land of Promise; then depart. And while I'm whizzing onward by first train, Bound for our own place (since my Brother sulks And says I shun him like the plague) yourself— Why, you have stepped thence, start from platform, gay Despite the sleepless journey,—love lends wings,— 200 Hug aunt and niece who, none the wiser, wait The faithful advent! Eh?' 'With all my heart,' Said I to you; said I to mine own self: 'Does he believe I fail to comprehend He wants just one more final friendly snack At friend's exchequer ere friend runs to earth, Marries, renounces yielding friends such sport?' And did I spoil sport, pull face grim,—nay, grave? Your pupil does you better credit! No! I parleyed with my pass-book,—rubbed my pair At the big balance in my banker's hands,— Folded a cheque cigar-case-shape,—just wants Filling and signing,—and took train, resolved To execute myself with decency And let you win—if not Ten thousand quite, Something by way of wind-up-farewell burst Of firework-nosegay! Where's your fortune fled? Or is not fortune constant after all? You lose ten thousand pounds: had I lost half Or half that, I should bite my lips, I think. You man of marble! Strut and stretch my best On tiptoe, I shall never reach your height. How does the loss feel! Just one lesson more!" The more refined man smiles a frown away. "The lesson shall be—only boys like you Put such a question at the present stage. I had a ball lodge in my shoulder once. And, full five minutes, never guessed the fact; Next day, I felt decidedly: and still. At twelve years' distance, when I lift my arm A twinge reminds me of the surgeon's probe. Ask me, this day month, how I feel my luck! And meantime please to stop impertinence. For—don't I know its object? All this chaff Covers the corn, this preface leads to speech. This boy stands forth a hero. 'There, my lord! Our play was true play, fun not earnest! I Empty your purse, inside out, while my poke Bulges to bursting? Tou can badly spare A doit, confess now, Duke though brother be! While I'm gold-daubed so thickly, spangles drop 'And show my father's warehouse-apron: pshaw! Enough! We've had a palpitating night! Good morning! Breakfast and forget our dreams! My mouth's shut, mind! I tell nor man nor mouse.' There, see! He don't deny it! Thanks, my boy! Hero and welcome—only, not on me Make trial of your 'prentice-hand! Enough! We've played, I've lost and owe ten thousand pounds, Whereof I muster, at the moment,—well, What's for the bill here and the back to town. Still, I've my little character to keep: You may expect your money at month's end." The young man at the window turns round quick— A clumsy giant handsome creature; grasps In his large red the little lean white hand Of the other, looks him in the sallow face. "I say now—is it right to so mistake A fellow, force him in mere self-defence To spout like Mister Mild Acclivity In album-language? You know well enough Whether I like you—like 's no album-word Anyhow: point me to one soul beside In the wide world I care one straw about! I first set eyes on you a year ago; Since when you've done me good—I'll stick to it— More than I got in the whole twenty-five That make my life up, Oxford years and all— Throw in the three I fooled away abroad. Seeing myself and nobody more sage Until I met you, and you made me man Such as the sort is and the fates allow. I do think, since we two kept company, I've learnt to know a little—all through you! It's nature if I like you. Taunt away! As if I need you teaching me my place— The snob I am, the Duke your brother is. When just the good you did was—teaching me My own trade, how a snob and millionaire May lead his life and let the Duke's alone, Clap wings, free jackdaw, on his steeple-perch, Burnish his black to gold in sun and air, Nor pick up stray plumes, strive to match in strut Regular peacocks who can't fly an inch Over the courtyard-paling. Head and heart (That's album-style) are older than you know. For all your knowledge: boy, perhaps—ay, boy Had his adventure, just as he were man— His ball-experience in the shoulder-blade, His bit of life-long ache to recognize, Although he bears it cheerily about. Because you came and clapped him on the back. Advised him 'Walk and wear the aching off!' Why, I was minded to sit down for life Just in Dalmatia, build a sea-side tower High on a rock, and so expend my days Pursuing chemistry or botany Or, very like, astronomy because I noticed stars shone when I passed the place: Letting my cash accumulate the while 300 In England—to lay out in lump at last As Ruskin should direct me! All or some Of which should I have done or tried to do, And preciously repented, one fine day, Had you discovered Timon, climbed his rock And scaled his tower, some ten years thence, suppose, And coaxed his story from him! Don't I see The pair conversing! It's a novel writ Already, I'll be bound,—our dialogue! 'What?' cried the elder and yet youthful man— So did the eye flash 'neath the lordly front, And the imposing presence swell with scorn, As the haught high-bred bearing and dispose Contrasted with his interlocutor The flabby low-born who, of bulk before, Had steadily increased, one stone per week, Since his abstention from horse-exercise:— 'What? you, as rich as Rothschild, left, you say, London the very year you came of age, Because your father manufactured goods— Commission-agent hight of Manchester— Partly, and partly through a baby case Of disappointment I've pumped out at last— And here you spend life's prime in gaining flesh And giving science one more asteroid?' Brief, my dear fellow, you instructed me. At Alfred's and not Istria! proved a snob May turn a million to account although His brother be no Duke, and see good days Without the girl he lost and some one gained. The end is, after one year's tutelage. Having, by your help, touched society. Polo, Tent-pegging, Hurlingham, the Rink— I leave all these delights, by your advice, And marry my young pretty cousin here Whose place, whose oaks ancestral you behold. (Her father was in partnership with mine— Does not his purchase look a pedigree?) My million will be tails and tassels smart To this plump-bodied kite, this house and land Which, set a-soaring, pulls me, soft as sleep, Along life's pleasant meadow,—arm left free To lock a friend's in,—whose but yours, old boy? Arm in arm glide we over rough and smooth, While hand, to pocket held, saves cash from cards. Now, if you don't esteem ten thousand pounds (—Which I shall probably discover snug Hid somewhere in the column-corner capped With 'Credit,' based on 'Balance,' —which, I swear, By this time next month I shall quite forget Whether I lost or won—ten thousand
