80

MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD1

George Meredith

VAN HARRINGTON, a young "gentleman"

EVA

in appearance and manner, but by birth the son of a tailor, is on his way to Lymport to attend his father's funeral. He has missed the coach he should have taken, and has engaged a conveyance to enable him to catch up with it. Unhappily, however, he does not think to inquire into the contents of his purse until he is some distance on the road, when, on doing so, he finds himself in an embarrassing predicament.

The postillion had every reason to believe he carried a real gentleman behind him; in other words, a purse long and liberal. He judged by all the points he knew of: a firm voice, a brief commanding style, an apparent indifference to expense, and the inexplicable minor characteristics, such as polished boots, and a striking wristband, and so forth, which will show a creature accustomed to step over the heads of men. He had, therefore, no particular anxiety to part company, and jogged easily on the white highway, beneath a moon that walked high and small over marble clouds.

About an hour after midnight pastoral stillness and the moon begat in the postillion desire for a pipe. Daylight prohibits the dream of it to mounted postillions. At night the question is more human, and allows appeal. The moon smiles assentingly, and smokers know that she really lends herself to the enjoyment of tobacco. The postillion could remember gentlemen who did not object: who had even given him

1 From Evan Harrington. A passage following the first paragraph is here omitted.

cigars. Turning round to see if haply the present inmate of the chariot might be smoking, he observed a head extended from the window.

"How far are we?" was inquired.

The postillion numbered the milestones passed.

"Do you see anything of the coach?"

"Can't say as I do, sir."

He was commanded to stop.

Evan jumped out.

"I don't think I'll take you any farther," he said.

The postillion laughed to scorn the notion of his caring how far he went. With a pipe in his mouth, he insinuatingly remarked, he could jog on all night, and throw sleep to the dogs. Fresh horses at Hillford; fresh at Fallowfield: and the gentleman himself would reach Lymport fresh in the morning.

"No, no; I won't take you any farther," Evan repeated. "But what do it matter, sir?" urged the postillion.

"I'd rather go on as I am.

to take you the whole way."

I-a-made no arrangement

"Oh!" cried the postillion, "don't you go troublin' yourself about that, sir. Master knows it's touch-and-go about catchin' the coach. I'm all right."

So infatuated was the fellow in the belief that he was dealing with a perfect gentleman-an easy pocket!

Now you would not suppose that one who presumes he has sufficient, would find a difficulty in asking how much he has to pay. With an effort, indifferently masked, Evan blurted: "By the way, tell me how much-what is the charge for the distance we've come?"

There are gentlemen-screws: there are conscientious gentlemen. They calculate, and remonstrating or not, they pay. The postillion would rather have had to do with the gentleman royal, who is above base computation; but he knew the

humanity in the class he served, and with his conception of Evan only partially dimmed, he remarked:

"Oh-h-h! that won't hurt you, sir. Jump along in,settle that by-and-by."

But when my gentleman stood fast, and renewed the demand to know the exact charge for the distance already trayersed, the postillion dismounted, glanced him over, and speculated with his fingers tipping up his hat. Meantime Evan drew out his purse, a long one, certainly, but limp. Out of this drowned-looking wretch the last spark of life was taken by the sum the postillion ventured to name; and if paying your utmost farthing without examination of the charge, and cheerfully stepping out to walk fifty miles, penniless, constituted a postillion's gentleman, Evan would have passed the The sight of poverty, however, provokes familiar feelings in poor men, if you have not had occasion to show them you possess particular qualities. The postillion's eye was more on the purse than on the sum it surrendered.

test.

"There," said Evan, "I shall walk. Good night." And he flung his cloak to step forward.

"Stop a bit, sir!" arrested him.

The postillion rallied up sideways, with an assumption of genial respect. "I didn't calc'late myself in that there

amount."

Were these words, think you, of a character to strike a young man hard on the breast, send the blood to his head, and set up in his heart a derisive chorus? My gentleman could pay his money, and keep his footing gallantly; but to be asked. for a penny beyond what he possessed; to be seen beggared, and to be claimed a debtor-alack! Pride was the one developed faculty of Evan's nature. The Fates who mould us, always work from the mainspring. I will not say that the postillion stripped off the mask for him, at that instant completely; but he gave him the first true glimpse of his condi

tion.

From the vague sense of being an impostor, Evan awoke to the clear fact that he was likewise a fool.

It was impossible for him to deny the man's claim, and he would not have done it, if he could. Acceding tacitly, he squeezed the ends of his purse in his pocket, and with a "Let me see," tried his waistcoat. Not too impetuously; for he was careful of betraying the horrid emptiness till he was certain that the powers who wait on gentlemen had utterly forsaken him. They had not. He discovered a small coin, under ordinary circumstances not contemptible; but he did not stay to reflect, and was guilty of the error of offering it to the postillion.

The latter peered at it in the center of his palm; gazed queerly in the gentleman's face, and then lifting the spit of silver for the disdain of his mistress, the moon, he drew a long breath of regret at the original mistake he had committed, and said:

"That's what you're goin' to give me for my night's work:" The powers who wait on gentlemen had only helped the pretending youth to try him. A rejection of the demand would have been infinitely wiser and better than this paltry compromise. The postillion would have fought it: he would not have despised his fare.

How much it cost the poor pretender to reply, "It's the last farthing I have, my man,' the postillion could not know. "A scabby sixpence?" The postillion continued his question. "You heard what I said," Evan remarked.

The postillion drew another deep breath, and holding out the coin at arm's length:

"Well, sir!" he observed, as one whom mental conflict has brought to the philosophy of the case, "now, was we to change places, I couldn't 'a' done it! I couldn't 'a' done it!" he reiterated, pausing emphatically.

"Take it, sir!" he magnanimously resumed; "take it! You

rides when you can, and you walks when you must. Lord forbid I should rob such a gentleman as you!"

One who feels a death, is for the hour lifted above the satire of postillions. A good genius prompted Evan to avoid the silly squabble that might have ensued and made him ridiculous. He took the money, quietly saying, "Thank you." Not to lose his vantage, the postillion, though a little staggered by the move, rejoined: "Don't mention it."

Evan then said: "Good night, my man. I won't wish, for your sake, that we changed places. You would have to walk fifty miles to be in time for your father's funeral. Good night."

"You are it to look at!" was the postillion's comment, seeing my gentleman depart with great strides. He did not speak offensively; rather, it seemed, to appease his conscience for the original mistake he had committed, for subsequently came, "My oath on it, I don't get took in again by a squash hat in a hurry!"

Unaware of the ban he had, by a sixpenny stamp, put upon an unoffending class, Evan went ahead, hearing the wheels of the chariot still dragging the road in his rear. The postillion was in a dissatisfied state of mind. He had asked and received more than his due. But in the matter of his sweet self, he had been choused,1 as he termed it. And my gentleman had baffled him, he could not quite tell how; but he had been got the better of; his sarcasms had not stuck, and returned to rankle in the bosom of their author. As a Jew, therefore, may eye an erewhile bondsman who has paid the bill, but stands out against excess of interest on legal grounds, the postillion regarded Evan, of whom he was now abreast, eager for a controversy.

"Fine night," said the postillion, to begin, and was answered

1 Cheated.