The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1899-10-21
A Perfect Gentleman


Yy T WAS the stirring OF spring, tne
IN tendency of fashion and the
n ghost OF a snecr drove him to do
III It. More particularly the ghost
III of a sncer. 1t was the tragedy
IN of his life that he admired her.
and he struggled against her in
vain. She was frankly -antipa-
thetic. You might have called her
anything before you would have called
her chic: at times he had to admit that
she was-to tell the dreadful truth
robust" Moreover, the most eNqui-
site epigrams. the prettiest turns of
wit, would often as not simply make
her stare and laugh-only too evident
ly at him. And yet when the healthy
Phillstine schoolgirl asked him, DO
you ever venture beyond the park MI
Crampton?" it sufilced. He told his
mother plainly his honor was involved.
And an irreverent porter saw him. al
ready heated, wheeling his machlne
upstairs from the Sutton platform, ana
there are few things less adapted to go
upstairs with any pretence to grace, on
his way to Brighton-and her.
His machine, like himself, was a lit
tie overdressed-we are far from
sound criticism of bicycles-chocolate
enamelled it was, with translucent
mudguards and the daintiest white
handles, and the gear case was of MI
my cellulod, with sort of metal dab
like a medal upon it. He wore
cooked hat-or at least one of those
brown felt hats that ought to be called
cooked hats, whatever the proper name
for them may be-and to distinguish
himself from the common cycling cad,
among other reasons, he wore trousers,
The brown of his clothing was apt to
his machine, and his tie white and
pretty. And when the vulgar cabmalr
outside Sutton Station called New
Woman" after him he pretended not
to hear, and went on mounting his
machine all across the road. He was
quite a sight to see riding up the road
toward Belmont, and the sun was so
struck by his spick-and-span appear
ance that he picked out every line or
enamel and metal on him and daZzled
the passerby Herewith. Something
like thing to shine on" said the SUM-
Just look at this" and Did you
ever?" in the excess of his admiration.
He had begun his ride from London
to Brighton at Sutton-which was gem
erous treatment for London in the geo.
graphical sense-IIis mother-he was
her only sOn-had gone to Brighton by
train. The Fentons were there also
and the juXtaposition had its quality
of design. His mother had devoted her
life to him; she held that he was deli
cate, and knowing the dreadfulness Of
public schools, almost as well as Oscar
Browning. had kept him by her under
a progressive series of amenable tutors
making perfect gentleman of him
according to her lights. And Madge
Fenton, with her half share in Fen
tons Safe Cure. was just the fit mate
for the sole proprietor of Crampton's
meat juice. II was quite a mothers
plan, to marry her son and yet keep
him in the family. And certainly he
appreciated Madga, though her atti-
tude was a little doubtful. Yet the
steady pressure Of her elders was
bound to win in the long run, and she
was a good girl-as times so.
The road from Sutton to Burgh
Heath looks like any other road on a
map. But unlike the generality of
roads known to Mr.. Champion it per-
sistently went up hill. 1t was already
going up hill at Sutton Station, and it
went on pretty steeply for a space, but
Win an AIR OF us DelnS last eIOrl.
Then round bend came a view of a
huge industrial home and another last
effort. Then a clear interval, even
down hill, to Belmont station, then it
started off again fresh as a daisy. 1t
went up hill visibly for a mile to Ban
stead Station, and then masked by
trees it continued to go up hill. Mr..
Champion was surprised, but the day
was young and his man had oiled and
adjusted his machine to a nicely. So
he stuck to it-ridinE steady, and
swinging a cigarette in the disengaged
hand. Until recently Bounder. with
a machine that went clank became
audible behind him.
To Mr.. Champion the idea of being
overhauled by a member of the lower
classes was distasteful, and relying on
the clank and the excellence of his
machine he threw away the cigarette
and quickened his pace. Thereupor
the Bounder rang his bell-it was a
beast of a cheap bell-and the clankinr
grew more frequent and louder, until
1t was close behind Mr.. Champion. Az
ter sharp spurt Mr.. Champion decid-
ed that he would not race after all, and
the Bounder drew alongside. He was