Peregrine's Progress

by Jeffery Farnol

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  EXEMPLIFYING THAT CLOTHES DO MAKE THE MAN

  "The Rubicon," said the Tinker, "the Rubicon is a river as no Romanever crossed without doo thought. 'The die,' as Julius Caesar remarkedwhen he crossed it, 'the die is cast!' Friend Peregrine, you ha' sentaway your lady aunt a-grieving, poor ma'm, and your fine gentlemenuncles likewise, and consequently what I asks is--what now?"

  "Clothes!" said I. "This afternoon let us drive into Tonbridge, find atailor, get rid of these atrocities and afterwards sup at some cosyinn."

  "Your gentlefolk brought you money then?"

  "They did," said I, and laying by my platter, I drew from my breechespockets the wallet of my uncle Jervas and uncle George's purse.

  "Ha!" exclaimed the Tinker, rubbing his long chin with the haft of hisknife. "How much?"

  "We will investigate," said I, and opening the wallet, I discoveredthe sum of thirty pounds in gold and notes and a carefully foldedmissive with these words:

  'If you wish to tinker, Peregrine, tinker like a gentleman. If youmust make love, do it like a Vereker, that is to say, a man ofhonour.'

  "My soul!" exclaimed the Tinker, round of eye.

  In uncle George's purse were twenty guineas with a crumpled paperbearing this scrawl,

  'More when you want it, Perry lad.'

  "Lord love me!" exclaimed the Tinker, staring at the money I hadplaced on the grass between us. "It's a fine thing to haveuncles--rich 'uns. What d' you think, Ann?"

  "That you'd better eat your dinner while it's hot."

  "But--fifty pound, Ann! Never saw so much money all at once in mylife--an' all gold an' bank notes, nothing s' common as silver orcopper--Lord! Fifty pound!"

  "Divided by four is exactly twelve pounds ten shillings," said I, andcounting out this sum, I thrust it into the Tinker's hand.

  "Eh--what--why, why, what's this?" he demanded.

  "Your share," I answered.

  "But why--what for?"

  "Because we are friends and comrades, I hope, and according to therules of the Brotherhood of the Roadside as expounded by you, 'thosethat have, give to those that haven't--it would be a poor worldelse.'"

  "No, no!" he exclaimed, "no, no, can't be done--I think ye meankindly, but it won't do."

  "But why not?" I demanded.

  "Because no man as is a man takes money unless he's earned it or lentit, or happens to be starving--"

  "Nor woman either!" said Diana.

  "Very well!" quoth I, a little ruefully, cramming the money back intomy pockets. "Then perhaps you will come to Tonbridge and help me tospend it?"

  "I would wi' j'y, but there's my work--ask Ann, she'll go wi' you."

  "I'm busy, too!" said she, whereupon I turned and strode off in highdudgeon. But presently she overtook me, "Don't you think you'd betterwash first?" she enquired. At this I stopped, for I had cleanforgotten my grime.

  "Why should I trouble to wash? How can it matter to you?"

  "Not much, Peregrine, but you look a little better with a clean faceand we shall likely meet plenty o' folk--"

  "Do you mean you will come with me?"

  "Yes, Peregrine."

  "Then I'll wash."

  "Yes, I brought you the soap and towel." So we came to the brook whereshe sat to watch while I performed my so necessary ablutions.

  "I have no wish to hinder your work," said I, towelling vigorously.

  "No, Peregrine."

  "And I am quite able to find my way to Tonbridge alone."

  "Yes, Peregrine."

  "And it is a goodish distance, so if you would rather not come, praydo not trouble."

  "No, Peregrine."

  "Heavens, girl!" I cried. "Cannot you say more than 'yes and no,Peregrine'?"

  "Aye, I could!" she nodded. "I could say you are a fool and a sighttoo cocksure--and, oh, a lot more--but I won't!" with which she roseand left me. My toilet achieved, I returned to find Jerry busyharnessing Diogenes, the pony.

  "For if you'm a-going, Peregrine, you may as well do the marketing,and there's a mort o' stores to bring back. Besides, Anna can take herbaskets t' sell, d'ye see."

  So in a while, behold Diana throned on the driving seat, reins inhand, while I led Diogenes up the winding, grassy slope to the highroad; this done, I climbed aboard and off we swung for Tonbridge town.

  Diogenes pounded along merrily, the wheels creaked and rattledcheerily, a soaring lark carolled joyously somewhere in the sunny airabove us; but Diana drove in sullen silence, her face avertedpertinaciously, wherefore I scowled before me and kept silence also;thus Diogenes, wheels and lark had it all to themselves. And when wehad driven thus some distance I spoke:

  "You are a very bright and cheery companion this afternoon!"

  At this she jerked her shoulder at me with a petulant gesture.

  "Indeed," said I, "it is a great wonder that you troubled to come withme--"

  "I've my baskets to sell!" she retorted in her most ungracious manner.

  "Why are you so changed to me?" I questioned. "Are you still angryabout that unfortunate business of the mirror, or is it because Ikissed you, or--"

  "Ah--don't talk of it!" she cried fiercely. "No man's ever kissed meso before--on the mouth--"

  "Thank heaven!" said I.

  "I hate ye for it and her most of all!"

  "'Her', Diana? Whom do you mean?"

  "Your fine lady aunt!"

  "But, good heaven! What had my aunt Julia to do with it?"

  "I don't care! I hate her--with her great, proud eyes and haughtyways--and offering me money an' all--"

  "Yes," said I, "it was wrong of her to attempt to bribe you--"

  "You did as much once--only it was your watch, so don't you talk! Isuppose my lady thinks I'm after you for your money. Oh, I wish t' GodI'd never seen you! And I shan't much longer--"

  "Ah, do you mean that you will attempt to run away?" I demanded. ButDiana merely stared sullenly at the road before us. "This would bevery, very wrong, Diana, very cruel and very wicked because, accordingto the laws of the Folk, you are already my wife."

  "But not according to the Church. You said so--an' you ain't of theFolk!"

  "But I might turn gipsy--others have done so."

  "Aye, but not your kind; you're best wi' your fine aunt to coddleyou--go back to your grand house an' servants, young man, and staythere!"

  "Some day, but not yet," I answered. "And when I go--you will go withme."

  "Oh, shall I!" she exclaimed scornfully. "You're precious sure ofyourself, ain't you?"

  "I am!" I nodded, folding my arms. "And of one other thing!"

  "What?"

  "That you will make a very ill-tempered wife!"

  "Oh, shall I!"

  "You will."

  "Not your'n, anyway. You ain't man enough."

  "We shall see!" said I between shut teeth.

  "Aha, now you're angry!" she laughed gleefully, and with some littlemalice.

  "You are enough to enrage a saint!" I retorted, and turning my back, Ibore with her gibes and fleerings as patiently as I might nor deignedher further notice, so that in a little she became mute also; and thusat last we reached Tonbridge. Scarcely were we in the High Streetthan, not waiting for Diana to draw rein, I leapt from the cart withsuch precipitation that I tripped awkwardly and rolled, grovelling, inthe dust. Scrambling hastily to my feet, I saw she had pulled up andwas eyeing me a little anxiously, but her voice was sullen as everwhen she spoke.

  "Are ye hurt?" she questioned ungraciously.

  "Thank you--no!" I answered, brushing the dust from my bruised knees.

  "All right!" she nodded, "I'll meet ye in the yard at 'TheChequers'--half-past four!" and away she drove without so much as onebackward glance.

  The place was busy by reason of the fair, the wide roadway throngedwith vehicles, and as I edged my way along the narrow, crowdedpavements gay with chintz and muslin gowns, polished boots, floweredwaistcoats and the rest of it, I felt myself a blot and blemish, at
hing to be viewed askance by this cheery crowd in its holiday attire.A short-legged man in a white hat roared at me to hold his horse; aplump and benevolent old lady earnestly sought to bestow upon metwopence in charity, but I paid no heed and began to seek eagerly fora tailor where I might exchange my sorry garments for things lesspoverty-stricken.

  And presently, to my great relief, I beheld a shop above whose crystalwindow panes was a sign with this inscription:

  VAUGHAN TAILOR & SARTORIAL ARTIST To The NOBILITY & GENTRY

  In this window was displayed cloth of every kind and colour, togetherwith framed pictures of stiff-limbed young gentlemen in most tryingand uncomfortable postures and clad in garments innocent of crease orwrinkle.

  Incontinent I lifted the latch and entered the shop to behold a stoutyoung gentleman contorting himself horribly in a vain endeavour toregard the small of his back.

  "There!" he gasped. "The breeches! Told you they were too tight--Iheard 'em crack--they're too infernal tight, I tell ye!"

  "Oh, dear me, impossible, sir!" sighed a pale, long-visaged person,flourishing a tape-measure. "A gent's breeches can't be too tight; thetighter they are the more _ton_! Indeed, tight breeches, sir,are--What's for you, my lad?" he enquired, catching sight of me.

  "I desire to purchase a suit of clothes."

  "Oh, dear me--no, no!" sighed the long-visaged person. "Not here, lad,not here! We build garments for gentlemen only, no ready-made goodshere; we deal strictly with the nobility and gentry of the county--goaway, lad, go away!" Here he flapped his tape-measure at me, the stoutgentleman stared at me, and I crept forth into the street again amongthe dainty, sprigged gowns and high-collared coats amid which Iwandered somewhat disconsolate until by chance my wandering gazelighted upon a small, dingy shop in whose narrow window squatted asmall, humpbacked, bespectacled man plying needle and thread withremarkable speed and dexterity. It was a small shop but so stuffed andcrammed with garments of all kinds that they had overflowed into thestreet, for the narrow doorway was draped, choked and festooned withcoats, breeches, pantaloons, shirts, waistcoats, stockings, boots,shoes, a riotous and apparently inextricable tangle.

  Into this small and stuffy shop I forced myself a passage, whereuponits small, busy proprietor glanced up at me over the rim of his largespectacles.

  "Well, son, what d'ye lack?" he demanded.

  "Clothes, if you please," said I humbly.

  "And that's no lie, neether--so ye do, by James!" he nodded.

  "Can I purchase some?"

  "If you've enough o' the rhino, son."

  For answer I drew a bank note from my pocket at random and laid itupon the small counter.

  "You have, b' James!" quoth the little man, "a fi'-pun note!" Andthrusting needle into the garment he was making he rose with briskalacrity. "What d'ye want in my way, son?"

  "Everything!" said I.

  "And here's the place t' get it, b' James! I've everything in clothesfrom the cradle to the grave--infant, child, youth and man, births,marriages or deaths, 'igh-days or 'olydays--I can fit ye with anystyle, any size and for any age, occasion or re-quirement."

  So saying, he ushered me into a small room behind the shop where heproceeded to whisk forth a bewildering array of garments for myinspection, until table and chairs were piled high and myself dazedwith their infinite variety.

  "B' James!" cried the little man, blinking, "I'll turn ye out as nobbya little spark as ever cocked a neye at a sighin' young fe-male. Lookat this coat, the roll o' this collar up to your ears, and as forbuttons--well, look at 'em--see 'em flash! As for weskits, see 'ere,son, climbin' roses worked into true-lover's knots and all pure silk!Then 'ere's a pair o' pantaloons as no blushin' nymp' couldresist--an' you shall 'ave the lot--ah, an' I'll throw in a ruffledshirt--for four-pun' ten--take 'em or leave 'em!"

  "Thank you, I think I'll leave them," said I. "My desire is for thingsa little less ostentatious--"

  "Os-ten--ha, certainly! Say no more, son, look around an' take y'rchoice--"

  At last, and almost in spite of the small tailor, I selected a suit alittle less offensive than most, the which I donned forthwith andfound it fit me none so ill; shirt, shoes, stockings and a hatcompleted my equipment, and though the garments were anything butelegant, yet my appearance, so much as I could see of it in the small,cracked mirror, was, on the whole, not displeasing, I thought. At thetailor's suggestion I purchased three extra shirts, as many cravats,stockings and a neckcloth.

  "And now," said I, as he tied up the somewhat unwieldy parcel, "whatdo I owe you?"

  "Well, son--I mean, sir," he answered, peering at me over hisspectacles, "them beautiful clothes has turned you from nobody asmatters into somebody as do; your credit is rose five hundred, ah, athousand per cent and I ought to charge ye a couple o' hundredguineas, say--but seein' as you're you an' I'm me--let's call itfi'-pun!"

  So having paid the tailor, I bade him good afternoon and strode forthinto the street and, though a little conscious of my new clothes andsomewhat hampered by the bulbous parcel beneath my arm, felt myself nolonger in danger of being roared at to hold horses or proffered almsby kindly old ladies. I strolled along at leisurely pace, castingoblique and surreptitious glances at my reflection in shop windows,whereby I observed that my new garments fitted me better than I hadsupposed, though it seemed the hair curled beneath my hat brim in toogenerous luxuriance; so perceiving a barber's adjacent, I entered andgave my head to the ministrations of a chatty soul whose tongue waggedfaster than his snipping scissors. Shorn of my superabundant locks, Isallied forth, and chancing upon a jeweller's shop, I entered andpurchased a silver watch for the Tinker, another for Jessamy Todd, andlastly a gold locket and chain for Diana.