So with advice and guidance both for this world and the next did my mother, with her soft, warm arms around me, prepare me for the great step which lay before me. My uncle did not appear at breakfast in the morning, but Ambrose brewed him a dish of chocolate and took it to his room. When at last, about midday, he did descend, he was so fine with his curled hair, his shining teeth, his quizzing glass, his snow-white ruffles, and his laughing eyes, that I could not take my gaze from him. “Well, nephew,” he cried, “what do you think of the prospect of coming to town with me?” “I thank you, sir, for the kind interest which you take in me,” said I. “But you must be a credit to me. My nephew must be of the best if he is to be in keeping with the rest of me.” “You’ll find him a chip of good wood, sir,” said my father. “We must make him a polished chip before we have done with him. Your aim, my dear nephew, must always be to be in _bon ton_. It is not a case of wealth, you understand. Mere riches cannot do it. Golden Price has forty thousand a year, but his clothes are disastrous. I assure you that I saw him come down St. James’s Street the other day, and I was so shocked at his appearance that I had to step into Vernet’s for a glass of orange brandy. No, it is a question of natural taste, and of following the advice and example of those who are more experienced than yourself.” “I fear, Charles, that Roddy’s wardrobe is country-made,” said my mother. “We shall soon set that right when we get to town. We shall see what Stultz or Weston can do for him,” my uncle answered. “We must keep him quiet until he has some clothes to wear.” This slight upon my best Sunday suit brought a flush to my mother’s cheeks, which my uncle instantly observed, for he was quick in noticing trifles. “The clothes are very well for Friar’s Oak, sister Mary,” said he. “And yet you can understand that they might seem _rococo_ in the Mall. If you leave him in my hands I shall see to the matter.” “On how much, sir,” asked my father, “can a young man dress in town?” “With prudence and reasonable care, a young man of fashion can dress upon eight hundred a year,” my uncle answered. I saw my poor father’s face grow longer. “I fear, sir, that Roddy must keep his country clothes,” said he. “Even with my prize-money—” “Tut, sir!” cried my uncle. “I already owe Weston something over a thousand, so how can a few odd hundreds affect it? If my nephew comes with me, my nephew is my care. The point is settled, and I must refuse to argue upon it.” He waved his white hands as if to brush aside all opposition. My parents tried to thank him, but he cut them short.