The Amateur Gentleman

"I wish, John," said he, "that you would remember we are no longer

master and man."

"Old habits stick, sir."

"And that I brought you to this dismal place as my friend."

"But surely, sir, a man's friend is worthy of his trust and

confidence?"

"John Peterby, what do you mean?"

"Sir," said Peterby, setting down the teapot, "as I came along this

evening, I met Mr. Shrig; he recognized me in spite of my disguise

and he told me to--warn you--"

"Well, John?"

"That you may be arrested--"

"Yes, John?"

"For--the murder of Jasper Gaunt. Oh, sir, why have you aroused

suspicion against yourself by disappearing at such a time?"

"Suspicion?" said Barnabas, and with the word he rose and laying his

hands upon John Peterby's shoulders, looked into his eyes. Then,

seeing the look they held, he smiled and shook his head.

"Oh, friend," said he, "what matters it so long as you know my hands

are clean?"

"But, sir, if you are arrested--"

"They must next prove me guilty, John," said Barnabas, sitting down

at the table.

"Or an accessory--after the fact!"

"Hum!" said Barnabas thoughtfully, "I never thought of that."

"And, sir," continued Peterby anxiously, "there are two Bow Street

Runners lounging outside in the court--"

"But they're not after me yet. So cheer up, John!" Yet in that moment,

Peterby sprang to his feet with fists clenched, for some one was

knocking softly at the door.

"Quick, sir--the other room--hide!" he whispered. But shaking his

head, Barnabas rose and, putting him gently aside, opened the door

and beheld a small gentleman who bowed.

A pale, fragile little gentleman this, with eyes and hair of an

indeterminate color, while his clothes, scrupulously neat and

brushed and precise to a button, showed pitifully shabby and

threadbare in contrast with his elaborately frilled and starched

cravat and gay, though faded, satin waistcoat; and, as he stood

bowing nervously to them, there was an air about him that somehow

gave the impression that he was smaller even than Nature had intended.

"Gentlemen," said he, coughing nervously behind his hand, "hem!--I

trust I don't intrude. Feel it my obligation to pay my respects,

to--hem! to welcome you as a neighbor--as a neighbor. Arthur Bimby,

humbly at your service--Arthur Bimby, once a man of parts though now

brought low by abstractions, gentlemen, forces not apparent to the

human optic, sirs. Still, in my day, I have been known about town as

a downy bird, a smooth file, and a knowing card--hem!"

Hereupon he bowed again, looking as unlike a "smooth file" or

"knowing card" as any small, inoffensive gentleman possibly could.

"Happy to see you, sir," answered Barnabas, returning his bow with

one as deep, "I am Barnabas Barty at your service, and this is my

good friend John Peterby. We are about to have supper--nothing very

much--tea, sir, eggs, and a cold fowl, but if you would honor us--"