English fiction -- 19th century; Tailors -- Fiction
Mr. Raikes stood about a head under him. He had extremely mobile
features; thick, flexible eyebrows; a loose, voluble mouth; a
ridiculous figure on a dandified foot. He represented to you one who
was rehearsing a part he wished to act before the world, and was not
aware that he took the world into his confidence.
How he had come there his elastic tongue explained in tropes and puns
and lines of dramatic verse. His patrimony spent, he at once believed
himself an actor, and he was hissed off the stage of a provincial
theatre.
“Ruined, the last ignominy endured, I fled from the gay vistas of the
Bench—for they live who would thither lead me! and determined, the day
before the yesterday—what think’st thou? why to go boldly, and offer
myself as Adlatus to blessed old Cudford! Yes! a little Latin is all
that remains to me, and I resolved, like the man I am, to turn, hic,
hac, hoc, into bread and cheese, and beer: Impute nought foreign to me,
in the matter of pride.”
“Usher in our old school—poor old Jack!” exclaimed Evan.
“Lieutenant in the Cudford Academy!” the latter rejoined. “I walked the
distance from London. I had my interview with the respected principal.
He gave me of mutton nearest the bone, which, they say, is sweetest;
and on sweet things you should not regale in excess. Endymion watched
the sheep that bred that mutton! He gave me the thin beer of our
boyhood, that I might the more soberly state my mission. That beer, my
friend, was brewed by one who wished to form a study for pantomimic
masks. He listened with the gravity which is all his own to the recital
of my career; he pleasantly compared me to Phaethon, congratulated the
river Thames at my not setting it on fire in my rapid descent, and
extended to me the three fingers of affectionate farewell. ‘You an
usher, a rearer of youth, Mr. Raikes? Oh, no! Oh, no!’ That was all I
could get out of him. ’Gad! he might have seen that I didn’t joke with
the mutton-bone. If I winced at the beer it was imperceptible. Now a
man who can do that is what I call a man in earnest.”
“You’ve just come from Cudford?” said Evan.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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