The Amateur Gentleman Part 68

_Barnabas_. "So long a time?"

_The Preacher_. "So short a time. You have been busy, I take it?"

_Barnabas_. "Yes, sir. Since last we met I have bought a house and set up an establishment in London, and I have also had the good fortune to be entered for the Gentleman's Steeplechase on the fifteenth."

_The Preacher_. "You are rich, young sir?"

_Barnabas_. "And I hope to be famous also."

_The Preacher_. "Then indeed do I begin to tremble for you."

_Barnabas_ (staring). "Why so?"

_The Preacher_. "Because wealth is apt to paralyze effort, and Fame is generally harder to bear, and far more dangerous, than failure."

_Barnabas_. "How dangerous, sir?"

_The Preacher_. "Because he who listens too often to the applause of the mult.i.tude grows deaf to the voice of Inspiration, for it is a very small, soft voice, and must be hearkened for, and some call it Genius, and some the Voice of G.o.d--"

_Barnabas_. "But Fame means Power, and I would succeed for the sake of others beside myself. Yes,--I must succeed, and, as I think you once said, all things are possible to us! Pray, what did you mean?"

_The Preacher_. "Young sir, into each of us who are born into this world G.o.d puts something of Himself, and by reason of this Divine part, all things are possible."

_Barnabas_. "Yet the world is full of failures."

_The Preacher_. "Alas! yes; but only because men do not realize power within them. For man is a selfish creature, and Self is always grossly blind. But let a man look within himself, let him but become convinced of this Divine power, and the sure and certain knowledge of ultimate success will be his. So, striving diligently, this power shall grow within him, and by and by he shall achieve great things, and the world proclaim him a Genius."

_Barnabas_. "Then--all men might succeed."

_The Preacher_. "a.s.suredly! for success is the common heritage of Man.

It is only Self, blind, ignorant Self, who is the coward, crying 'I cannot! I dare not! It is impossible!'"

_Barnabas_. "What do you mean by 'Self'?"

_The Preacher_. "I mean the grosser part, the slave that panders to the body, a slave that, left unchecked, may grow into a tyrant, a Circe, changing Man to brute."

Here Barnabas, having finished his bread and b.u.t.ter, very thoughtfully cut himself another slice.

_Barnabas_ (still thoughtful). "And do you still go about preaching Forgetfulness of Self, sir?"

_The Preacher_. "And Forgiveness, yes. A good theme, young sir, but--very unpopular. Men prefer to dwell upon the wrongs done them, rather than cherish the memory of benefits conferred. But, nevertheless, I go up and down the ways, preaching always."

_Barnabas_. "Why, then, I take it, your search is still unsuccessful."

_The Preacher_. "Quite! Sometimes a fear comes upon me that she may be beyond my reach--"

_Barnabas_. "You mean--?"

_The Preacher_. "Dead, sir. At such times, things grow very black until I remember that G.o.d is a just G.o.d, and therein lies my sure and certain hope. But I would not trouble you with my griefs, young sir, more especially on such a glorious morning,--hark to the throstle yonder, he surely sings of Life and Hope. So, if you will, pray tell me of yourself, young sir, of your hopes and ambitions."

_Barnabas_. "My ambitions, sir, are many, but first,--I would be a gentleman."

_The Preacher_ (nodding). "Good! So far as it goes, the ambition is a laudable one."

_Barnabas_ (staring thoughtfully at his bread and b.u.t.ter). "The first difficulty is to know precisely what a gentleman should be. Pray, sir, what is your definition?"

_The Preacher_. "A gentleman, young sir, is (I take it) one born with the G.o.dlike capacity to think and feel for others, irrespective of their rank or condition."

_Barnabas_. "Hum! One who is unselfish?"

_The Preacher_. "One who possesses an ideal so lofty, a mind so delicate, that it lifts him above all things ign.o.ble and base, yet strengthens his hands to raise those who are fallen--no matter how low. This, I think, is to be truly a gentleman, and of all gentle men Jesus of Nazareth was the first."

_Barnabas_ (shaking his head). "And yet, sir, I remember a whip of small cords."

_The Preacher_. "Truly, for Evil sometimes so deadens the soul that it can feel only through the flesh."

_Barnabas_. "Then--a man may fight and yet be a gentleman?"

_The Preacher_. "He who can forgive, can fight."

_Barnabas_. "Sir, I am relieved to know that. But must Forgiveness always come after?"

_The Preacher_. "If the evil is truly repented of."

_Barnabas_. "Even though the evil remain?"

_The Preacher_. "Ay, young sir, for then Forgiveness becomes truly divine."

_Barnabas_. "Hum!"

_The Preacher_. "But you eat nothing, young sir."

_Barnabas_. "I was thinking."

_The Preacher_. "Of what?"

_Barnabas_. "Sir, my thought embraced you."

_The Preacher_. "How, young sir?"

_Barnabas_. "I was wondering if you had ever heard of a man named Chichester?"

_The Preacher_ (speaking brokenly, and in a whisper). "Sir!--young sir,--you said--?"

_Barnabas_ (rising). "Chichester!"

_The Preacher_ (coming to his knees). "Sir,--oh, sir,--this man--Chichester is he who stole away--my daughter,--who blasted her honor and my life,--who--"