University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
A short chapter, showing the inconveniences of visiting the high
places of hospitality in a tattered coat, with a pack on the top
of it.

The sense of gratified revenge, added to that of
security from my foes, had a favourable effect on my
spirits and deportment, which latter was now as stiff
as might be expected of a schoolboy entering upon
the world with a high opinion of his own merits and
importance; and seeing a great hotel, that had the
appearance of being one of the best in the city, and
was therefore just the thing to suit me, I stepped
boldly in, and going to the bar, demanded of a dapper
personage who stood therein and rested for a
moment from his labour of compounding slings and
hailstones, by throwing his elbows on the bar, and
his chin into his hands, in which position he very
lazily and complacently regarded the groups of customers
scattered about the room—if I could have
lodgings. The gentleman raised his eyes, without
disturbing the economy of his attitude, and surveyed
me with a look of placid inexpressiveness, but made
no reply; seeing which, and supposing he had not
heard me, I repeated the question. Upon this, he
roused himself so far as to disengage his right thumb
from his cheek, and point with it to the door, eyeing
me still with a look that seemed to express little or

nothing, but which I, at last, understood to convey
an intimation that I might go the way I had come.

I was so enraged and mortified at this insulting
repulse, that my first impulse was to lay my staff
over the man's pate for his impertinence: but just
then, I observed a huge dog rear himself by his
forepaws behind the counter, and eye me in a way
that convinced me it would be dangerous to attempt
any liberties with his impertinent master. To complete
my confusion, I perceived, as I turned to depart,
that every body was laughing at me, seeming
to be vastly diverted at the insolence of the barkeeper,
as well as my own unconcealed chagrin; a
degree of cruelty and boorishness, which, notwithstanding
my shame, I had yet the courage to reprehend,
by begging their pardon for having intruded
upon them, because, as I said, “I supposed the
house was a place of resort for gentlemen.”

With this cut, which, in the innocency of my
heart, I supposed was prodigiously witty and severe,
but which only made my gentlemen laugh the louder,
I left the house, and hunted my way, though with
less confidence than before, to a second hotel, where
I met a similar rebuff: at least, the barkeeper told me,
with a sneer, “they never harboured runaway 'prentices;”
and upon my retorting his impertinence,
called a servant to put me out of the house. A
third attempt resulted in equal mortification; and
having made one or two more efforts, in vain, I
began fairly to weep with vexation and shame; for I
perceived that every body regarded me with contempt,
as being entirely unfit to be received into
decent lodgings, among genteel and respectable persons.
This, I began to suspect, was all owing to
the appearance of my clothes, which my travels
through the woods had by no means beautified; and

still more to the knapsack I carried, the effect of
which, as I could well believe, was to give me more
the air of a pedler than a gentleman.

This consideration, and the mortifications I had
already endured, besides reducing me in my own
opinion, and making me feel very forlorn, caused me
to debate whether I should not go to a tailor's shop,
and transform myself immediately into a gentleman;
or inquire out the residence of Mr. Bloodmoney,
and betake myself immediately to him for
advice and countenance. The latter alternative appearing
to me most advantageous, I summoned
courage enough to enter a little tavern, or chop-house,
to make inquiry; and finding myself
courteously received by a very greasy, bluff and
mean-looking personage, who appeared the master
of the house, and met me with a courteous demand
what I would have.—“Tripe, chop, steak or soused
sturgeon?”—and my appetite being pretty eager, I
was glad to preface my questions with a dinner such
as the man had to give me.

This accomplished, I asked after Mr. Bloodmoney,
and received such directions as, I had no doubt,
would enable me to find his house without further
assistance; and as I had now (not knowing how
better to provide myself) resolved to lodge in the
steak-house, where the greasy man assured me I could
have a very decent bed, provided Mr. Bloodmoney
should not direct me otherwise, I left my knapsack
in the man's charge, and set out to report myself to
that gentleman; who, mine host gave me to understand,
in a malicious way, was a “great bug,” that
is, a great personage, rolling in wealth; which, for
his part, he did not envy, because he was an honest
man, who made his money honestly by the sweat of
his brow, (he should have said the grease,) and not

by grinding the face of the poor, and sending out
ships in the slave-trade, and getting into banks and
using the people's money, and all that sort of thing.
In short, my landlord was one of those honest personages
who console themselves for their poverty
by abusing their richer neighbours; which I could
see well enough: nevertheless, I thought his account
of Mr. Bloodmoney might be true, as it is not
always necessary that a rich and great personage
should be a man of honour and virtue.