"Principally in dressing and undressing."
"Ah, jess so, jess so--coats cut 'igh and coats cut low! But what
more?"
"And in eating and drinking."
"Ah, French hortolons, p'r'aps, with a occasional tongue of a lark
throwed in for a relish, jess so! But what more--did ye marry a
duchess, f'r instance?"
"Alas, no!"
"Elope with a earl's daughter, then?"
"No."
"Well--did ye fight any dooels?"
"Not a single one."
"Lord, young sir--you 'ave been a-missing of your opportunities, you
'ave, playing fast and loose wi' Fortun', I calls it--ah, fair
flying in the face o' Providence! Now, if instead o' selling books I
took to writing of 'em, and tried to write you into a novel, why,
Lord, what a poor thing that there novel would be! Who'd want to read
it?--why, nobody! Oh, I can see as you've been throwing away your
opportunities and wasting your chances shocking, you 'ave."
"Now I wonder," said Barnabas, frowning thoughtfully, "I wonder if I
have?"
"Not a doubt of it!" answered the Pedler, swallowing the last of his
potato.
"Then the sooner I begin to make up for it, the better."
"Ah!" nodded the Pedler. "I should begin at once, if I was you."
"I will," said Barnabas, gathering up the reins.
"And how, sir?"
"By going my allotted way and--striving to be content."
"Content!" exclaimed the Pedler, "lord, young sir, it's only fools
as is ever content! A contented man never done anything much worth
'aving, nor said anything much worth 'caring as ever I 'eard. Never
go for to be content, young sir, or you'll never do nothing at all!"
"Why, then," said Barnabas, smiling ruefully, "it is certain that I
shall achieve something yet, because--I never shall be content!"
"That's the spirit, young sir--aim 'igh. Jest look at me--born in
the gutter, but I wasn't content wi' the gutter so I taught myself
to read and write. But I wasn't content to read and write, so I took
to the book trade, and 'ere I am to-day travelling the roads and wi'
a fairish connection, but I ain't content--Lord, no! I'd like to be
a dook a-rolling in a chariot, or a prince o' the blood, or the
Prime Minister a-laying down the law. That's the sperrit--shoot 'igh,
ah! shoot at the sun and you're bound to 'it summat if it's only a
tree or a 'ay-stack. So, if you can't be a dook or a prince, you can
allus be--a man--if you try 'ard enough. What--are ye going, young
sir?"
"Yes," answered Barnabas, leaning down from the saddle, "good-by,
and thank you for your advice," and he stretched out his hand.
Hereupon the pedler of books rose to his feet and rather diffidently
clasped the proffered hand. So Barnabas smiled down at him, nodded
and rode upon his way, but as for the Pedler, he stood there,
staring after him open-mouthed, and with the yellow coins shining
upon his palm.