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M R.
A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY 25
CHAPTER III
A SHABBY GENTEEL DINNER, AND OTHER INCIDENTS
OF A LIKE NATURE
BRANDON'S letter to Lord Cinqbars produced, as we
have said, a great impression upon the family of Gann ;
an impression which was considerably increased by their
lodger's subsequent behaviour: for although the persons with
whom he now associated were of a very vulgar ridiculous kind,
they were by no means so low or ridiculous that Mr. Brandon
should. not wish to appear before them in the most advantageous
light ; and, accordingly, he gave himself the greatest airs when in
their company, and bragged incessantly of his acquaintance and
familiarity with the nobility. Mr. Brandon was a tuft-hunter of
the genteel sort ; his pride being quite as slavish, and his haughtiness
as mean and cringing, in fact, as poor Mrs. Gann's stupid
wonder and respect for all the persons whose names are written
with titles before them. 0 free and happy Britons, what a
miserable, truckling, cringing race ye are !
The reader has no doubt encountered a number of such
swaggerers in the course of his conversation with the world—men
of a decent middle rank, who affect to despise it, and herd only
with persons of the fashion. This is an offence in a man which
none of us can forgive : we call him tuft-hunter, lickspittle, sneak,
unmanly ; we hate, and profess to despise him. I fear it is no such
thing. We envy Lickspittle, that is the fact ; and therefore hate
him. Were he to plague us with the stories of Jones and Brown,
our familiars, the man would be a simple bore, his stories heard
patiently ; but so soon as he talks of my Lord or the Duke, we are
in arms against him. I have seen a whole merry party in Russell
Square grow suddenly gloomy and dumb, because a pert barrister,
in a loud shrill voice, told a story of Lord This, or the Marquis of
That. We all hated that man ; and I would lay a wager that every
one of the fourteen persons assembled round the boiled turkey and
saddle of mutton (not to mention side-dishes from the pastrycook's
opposite the British Museum)—I would wager, I say, that everyone
was muttering inwardly, " A plague on that fellow ! he knows