Being a Loafer is all very good so far; but some of the men (and women)
who address me use a kind of familiarity that makes me long to lie down
and die. A man never loses the dandy instinct, and when you come to be
actually addressed in familiar, or even impudent, terms by a sort of
promoted housemaid, it makes you long for the soft-voiced, quiet ladies
to whom a false accent or a shrill word would be a horror.
So long as you are a Loafer you must be prepared to put up with much.
The better-class artisan is always a gentleman who never offers nor
endures a liberty; but some of the flash sort are unendurable, and their
womenkind are worse. With costers and bargemen one can always get on
familiarly: it is the pretentious, vulgar men and females who are
horrible.
Often and often I am tempted to creep back among the lights again, and
feel the old delicate joy from cultured talk, lovely music, steady
refinement, and beauty. Then comes the reckless fit, and I am off to The
Chequers. Here is a rhyme which takes my fancy.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202