As I paused out of the door, the
"help," a comely middle-aged woman, could not conquer a grin that twisted
her lips and separated them till the throat, out of involuntary sympathy,
made the uncouth animal noises we are wont to designate as "laughter."
No sooner was I out on the streets than I was impressed by the difference
in status effected by my clothes. All servility vanished from the
demeanour of the common people with whom I came in contact. Presto! in
the twinkling of an eye, so to say, I had become one of them. My frayed
and out-at-elbows jacket was the badge and advertisement of my class,
which was their class. It made me of like kind, and in place of the
fawning and too respectful attention I had hitherto received, I now
shared with them a comradeship. The man in corduroy and dirty
neckerchief no longer addressed me as "sir" or "governor." It was "mate"
now--and a fine and hearty word, with a tingle to it, and a warmth and
gladness, which the other term does not possess. Governor! It smacks of
mastery, and power, and high authority--the tribute of the man who is
under to the man on top, delivered in the hope that he will let up a bit
and ease his weight, which is another way of saying that it is an appeal
for alms.
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