The Amateur Gentleman

"No, thank you," said Barnabas, laying aside hat and cane.

"No, sir? Very good, sir! Certainly not, sir! A cut o' b'iled beef

might suit, p'raps,--with carrots? or shall we say--"

"Neither, thank you, but you can bring me a bottle of Burgundy and

the Gazette."

"Burgundy, sir--Gazette? Certainly, sir--"

"And--I'm expecting a gentleman here of the name of Smivvle--"

"Certainly, sir! Burgundy, Gazette, Gent name of Sniffle, yessir!

Hanythink else, sir?"

"Yes, I should like pens and ink and paper."

"Yessir--himmediately, sir." Hereupon, and with many and divers bows

and flicks of the napkin, the waiter proceeded to set out the

articles in question, which done, he flicked himself out of the room.

But he was back again almost immediately, and had uncorked the

bottle and filled the glass with a flourish, a dexterity, a

promptness, accorded only to garments of the very best and most

ultra-fashionable cut. Then, with a bow that took in bestarched

cravat, betasselled Hessians, and all garments between, the waiter

fluttered away. So, in a while, Barnabas took pen and paper, and

began the following letter: * * * * * MY DEAR FATHER AND NATTY BELL,--Since writing

my last letter to you, I have bought a house near St.

James's, and set up an establishment second to none. I

will confess that I find myself like to be overawed by my

retinue of servants, and their grave and decorous politeness;

I also admit that dinner is an ordeal of courses,--

each of which, I find, requires a different method of attack;

for indeed, in the Polite World, it seems that eating is

cherished as one of its most important functions, hence,

dining is an art whereof the proper manipulation of the

necessary tools is an exact science. However, by treating

my servants with a dignified disregard, and by dint of

using my eyes while at table, I have committed no great

solecism so far, I trust, and am rapidly gaining in knowledge

and confidence.

I am happy to tell you that I have the good fortune

to be entered for the Gentlemen's Steeplechase, a most

exclusive affair, which is to be brought off at Eltham on

the fifteenth of next month. From all accounts it will

be a punishing Race, with plenty of rough going,--

plough, fallow, hedge and ditch, walls, stake-fences and

water. The walls and water-jump are, I hear, the worst.

Now, although I shall be riding against some of the

best horsemen in England, still I venture to think I

can win, and this for three reasons. First, because I intend

to try to the uttermost--with hand and heel and head.

Secondly, because I have bought a horse--such a horse

as I have only dreamed of ever possessing,--all fire and

courage, with a long powerful action--Oh, Natty Bell,

if you could but see him! Rising six, he is, with tushes

well through,--even your keen eye could find no flaw in

him, though he is, perhaps, a shade long in the cannon.

And, thirdly, I am hopeful to win because I was taught

horse-craft by that best, wisest of riders, Natty Bell.

Very often, I remember, you have told me, Natty Bell,

that races are won more by judgment of the rider than by

the speed of the horse, nor shall I forget this. Thus

then, sure of my horse, sure of myself, and that kind

Destiny which has brought me successfully thus far, I

shall ride light-hearted and confident.