him or with two or three of his
friends--mostly young carpet warriors like himself; and very
charming young fellows they were. I have always been fond of
warriors, young or old, and of whatever rank, and wish to goodness I
had been a warrior myself. I feel sure I should have made a fairly
good one!

Then we would spend an hour or two in athletic exercises and smoke
many pipes. And after this, in the summer, we would walk in
Kensington Gardens and see the Rank and Fashion. In those days the
Rank and Fashion were not above showing themselves in the Kensington
Gardens of a Sunday afternoon, crossing the Serpentine Bridge again
and again between Prince's Gate and Bayswater.

Then for dinner we went to some pleasant foreign pot-house in or
near Leicester Square, where they spoke French--and ate and drank
it!--and then back again to his rooms. Sometimes we would be alone,
which I liked best: we would read and smoke and be happy; or he
would sketch, or pick out accompaniments on his guitar; often not
exchanging a word, but with a delightful sense of close
companionship which silence almost intensified.

Sometimes we were in very jolly company: more warriors; young
Robson, the actor who became so famous; a big negro pugilist, called
Snowdrop; two medical students from St. George's Hospital, who boxed
well and were capital fellows; and an academy art student, who died
a Royal Academician, and who did not approve of Barty's mural
decorations and laughed at the colored lithographs; and many others
of all sorts. There used to be much turf talk, and sometimes a
little card-playing and mild gambling--but Barty's tastes did not
lie that way.

His idea of a pleasant evening was putting on the gloves with
Snowdrop, or any one else who chose--or fencing--or else making
music; or being funny in any way one could; and for this he had
quite a special gift: he had sudden droll inspirations that made one
absolutely hysterical--mere things of suggestive look or sound or
gesture, reminding one of Robson himself, but quite original;
absolute senseless rot and drivel, but still it made one laugh till
one's sides ached. And he never failed of success in achieving this.

Among the dullest and gravest of us, and even some of the most
high-minded, there is often a latent longing for this kind of happy
idiotic fooling, and a grateful fondness for those who can supply it
without effort and who delight in doing so. Barty was the precursor
of the