So, in a while, Barnabas took pen and paper, and
began the following letter:
* * * * *
MY DEAR FATHER AND NATTY BELL,--Since writing
my last letter to you, I have bought a house near St.
James's, and set up an establishment second to none. I
will confess that I find myself like to be overawed by my
retinue of servants, and their grave and decorous politeness;
I also admit that dinner is an ordeal of courses,--
each of which, I find, requires a different method of attack;
for indeed, in the Polite World, it seems that eating is
cherished as one of its most important functions, hence,
dining is an art whereof the proper manipulation of the
necessary tools is an exact science. However, by treating
my servants with a dignified disregard, and by dint of
using my eyes while at table, I have committed no great
solecism so far, I trust, and am rapidly gaining in knowledge
and confidence.
I am happy to tell you that I have the good fortune
to be entered for the Gentlemen's Steeplechase, a most
exclusive affair, which is to be brought off at Eltham on
the fifteenth of next month.
Pages:
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473