the fun of the
thing. William was in the most sober earnest. Accordingly, the admiral
turned his son out of doors.

The boy came back, of course. Beating and turning out of doors were not
such serious events in the seventeenth century as they would be at
present. Most men said more, and in louder voices, and meant less. It
was but a brief quarrel, and father and son made it up as best they
could. It was plain, however, that something must be done. Whipping
would not avail. William's head was full of queer notions, upon which a
stick had no effect. His father bethought himself of the pleasant
diversions of France. The lad, he said, has lived in the country all his
days, and has had no acquaintance with the merry world; he shall go
abroad, that he may see life, and learn to behave like a gentleman; let
us see if this will not cure him of his pious follies.

Accordingly, to France the young man went, and traveled in company with
certain persons of rank. He stayed more than a year, and enjoyed himself
greatly. He was at the age when all the world is new and interesting;
and being of attractive appearance and high spirits, with plenty of
money, the world gave him a cordial welcome. So far did he venture into
the customs of the country, that he had a fight one night in a Paris
street with somebody who crossed swords with him, and disarmed his
antagonist. He had a right, according to the rules, to kill him, but he
declined to do so. When he came home, he pleased his father much by his
graceful behavior and elegant attire. "This day," says Mr. Pepys in his
diary for August 26, 1664, "my wife tells me that Mr. Pen, Sir William's
son, is come back from France, and came to visit her. A most modish
person grown, she says, a fine gentleman." Pepys thinks that he is even
a bit too French in his manner and conversation.

"I remember your honour very well," writes a correspondent years after,
"when you came newly out of France, and wore pantaloon breeches."

This journey affected Penn all the rest of his life. It restrained him
from following the absurder singularities of his associates. George
Fox's leather suit he would have found impossible. He wore his hat in
the Quaker way, and said "thee" and "thou," but otherwise he appears to
have dressed and acted according to the conventions of polite society.
He did, indeed, become a Quaker; but there were always Quakers who
looked askance at him because he was so different from them, abl