It is a most remarkable thing.I sat down with the full intention of writing something clever and original;but for the life of me I can't think of anything clever and original--at least,not at this moment.
The only thing I can think about now is being hard up.I suppose having my hands in my pockets has made me think about this.I always do sit with my hands in my pockets except when I am in the company of my sisters,my cousins,or my aunts;and they kick up such a shindy--Ishould say expostulate so eloquently upon the subject--that I have to give in and take them out--my hands I mean.The chorus to their objections is that it is not gentlemanly.I am hanged if I can see why.I could understand its not being considered gentlemanly to put your hands in other people's pockets (especially by the other people),but how,0ye sticklers for what looks this and what looks that,can putting his hands in his own pockets make a man less gentle?Perhaps you are right,though.Now I come to think of it,I have heard some people grumble most savagely when doing it.But they were mostly old gentlemen.We young fellows,as a rule,are never quite at ease unless we have our hands in our pockets.We are awkward and shifty.
We are like what a music-hall Lion Comique would be without his opera-hat,if such a thing can be imagined.But let us put our hands in our trousers pockets,and let there be some small change in the right-hand one and a bunch of keys in the left,and we will face a female post-office clerk.
It is a little difficult to know what to do with your bands,even in your pockets,when there is nothing else there.Years ago,when my whole capital would occasionally come down to "what in town the people call a bob,"I would recklessly spend a penny of it,merely for the sake of having the change,all in coppers,to jingle.You don't feel nearly so hard up with eleven pence in your pocket as you do with a shilling.Had I been "La-di-da,"that impecunious youth about whom we superior folk are so sarcastic,I would have changed my penny for two ha'pennies.
I can speak with authority on the subject of being hard up.I have been a provincial actor.If further evidence be required,which I do not think likely,I can add that I have been a "gentleman connected with the press."I have lived on 15shilling a week.I have lived a week on 10,owing the other 5;and I have lived for a fortnight on a great-coat.
It is wonderful what an insight into domestic economy being really hard up gives one.If you want to find out the value of money,live on 15shillings a week and see how much you can put by for clothes and recreation.You will find out that it is worth while to wait for the farthing change,that it is worth while to walk a mile to save a penny,that a glass of beer is a luxury to be indulged in only at rare intervals,and that a collar can be worn for four days.
Try it just before you get married.It will be excellent practice.
Let your son and heir try it before sending him to college.He won't grumble at a hundred a year pocket-money then.There are some people to whom it would do a world of good.There is that delicate blossom who can't drink any claret under ninety-four,and who would as soon think of dining off cat's meat as off plain roast mutton.You do come across these poor wretches now and then,though,to the credit of humanity,they are principally confined to that fearful and wonderful society known only to lady novelists.I never hear of one of these creatures discussing a menucard but I feel a mad desire to drag him off to the bar of some common east-end public-house and cram a sixpenny dinner down his throat--beefsteak pudding,fourpence;potatoes,a penny;half a pint of porter,a penny.The recollection of it (and the mingled fragrance of beer,tobacco,and roast pork generally leaves a vivid impression)might induce him to turn up his nose a little less frequently in the future at everything that is put before him.Then there is that generous party,the cadger's delight,who is so free with his small change,but who never thinks of paying his debts.It might teach even him a little common sense."I always give the waiter a shilling.One can't give the fellow less,you know,"explained a young government clerk with whom I was lunching the other day in Regent Street.I agreed with him as to the utter impossibility of making it elevenpence ha'penny;but at the same time I resolved to one day decoy him to an eating-house I remembered near Covent Garden,where the waiter,for the better discharge of his duties,goes about in his shirt-sleeves--and very dirty sleeves they are,too,when it gets near the end of the month.I know that waiter.
If my friend gives him anything beyond a penny,the man will insist on shaking hands with him then and there as a mark of his esteem;of that I feel sure.
There have been a good many funny things said and written about hardupishness,but the reality is not funny,for all that.It is not funny to have to haggle over pennies.It isn't funny to be thought mean and stingy.It isn't funny to be shabby and to be ashamed of your address.No,there is nothing at all funny in poverty--to the poor.It is hell upon earth to a sensitive man;and many a brave gentleman who would have faced the labors of Hercules has had his heart broken by its petty miseries.
It is not the actual discomforts themselves that are hard to bear.
Who would mind roughing it a bit if that were all it meant?What cared Robinson Crusoe for a patch on his trousers?Did he wear trousers?I forget;or did he go about as he does in the pantomimes?
What did it matter to him if his toes did stick out of his boots?and what if his umbrella was a cotton one,so long as it kept the rain off?His shabbiness did not trouble him;there was none of his friends round about to sneer him.
