English fiction -- 19th century; Tailors -- Fiction
Are you impatient with this young man? He has little character for the
moment. Most youths are like Pope's women; they have no character at
all. And indeed a character that does not wait for circumstances to
shape it, is of small worth in the race that must be run. To be set too
early, is to take the work out of the hands of the Sculptor who fashions
men. Happily a youth is always at school, and if he was shut up and
without mark two or three hours ago, he will have something to show you
now: as I have seen blooming seaflowers and other graduated organisms,
when left undisturbed to their own action. Where the Fates have designed
that he shall present his figure in a story, this is sure to happen.
To the postillion Evan was indebted for one of his first lessons.
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 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
Fallow field: 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. I--a--made no arrangement to take you the
whole way.'
'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:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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