He swallowed it like a roach. "Oh, when I've failed for everything,
I shall stick up to the Guv'nor. Hang it all, a GENTLEMAN can't be
expected to earn his own livelihood. England's going to the dogs, that's
where it is; no snug little sinecures left for chaps like you and
me; all this beastly competition. And no respect for the feelings of
gentlemen, either! Why, would you believe it, Cumberground--we used
to call you Cumberground at Charterhouse, I remember, or was it Fig
Tree?--I happened to get a bit lively in the Haymarket last week, after
a rattling good supper, and the chap at the police court--old cove with
a squint--positively proposed to send me to prison, WITHOUT THE OPTION
OF A FINE!--I'll trouble you for that--send ME to prison just--for
knocking down a common brute of a bobby. There's no mistake about it;
England's NOT a country now for a gentleman to live in."
"Then why not mark your sense of the fact by leaving it?" I inquired,
with a smile.
He shook his head. "What? Emigrate? No, thank you! I'm not taking any.
None of your colonies for ME, IF you please. I shall stick to the old
ship. I'm too much attached to the Empire.
Pages:
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76