would not say that thou wert the real gentleman, and he the tapster’s boy?”
“Troth, uncle,” replied Lambourne, “no one would say so but one of your country-breeding, that knows no better. I will say, and I care not who hears me, there is something about the real gentry that few men come up to that are not born and bred to the mystery. I wot not where the trick lies; but although I can enter an ordinary with as much audacity, rebuke the waiters and drawers as loudly, drink as deep a health, swear as round an oath, and fling my gold as freely about as any of the jingling spurs and white feathers that are around me,—yet, hang me if I can ever catch the true grace of it, though I have practised an hundred times. The man of the house sets me lowest at the board, and carves to me the last; and the drawer says,—‘Coming, friend,’ without any more reverence or regardful addition. But, hang it, let it pass; care killed a cat. I have gentry enough to pass the trick on Tony Fire-the-Fagot, and that will do for the matter in hand.”
“You hold your purpose, then, of visiting your old acquaintance?” said Tressilian to the adventurer.
“Ay, sir,” replied Lambourne; “when stakes are made, the game must be played; that is gamester’s law, all over the world. You, sir, unless my memory fails me, (for I did steep it somewhat too deeply in the sack-butt,) took some share in my hazard?”
“I propose to accompany you in your adventure,” said Tressilian, “if you will do me so much grace
