172 Life and Sport on the Pacific Slope 



The fathers of the fools are, as a rule, army and 

 naval officers retired on half-pay. What a pathetic 

 procession they make, these veterans of the Crimea 

 and the Mutiny ! You meet them in every country 

 town : two and two, marching stiffly, keeping step 

 to the drums and fifes of precedent and prejudice, 

 chests well inflated, clothes well brushed — clean, 

 kindly, honourable men. And their sons — so say 

 they all — must be also gentlemen. God knows 

 one wishes for their sakes it might be so ; but is it 

 possible ? Is it practicable ? 



"My lad is a fool," a major-general complained 

 to the writer, some years ago. " What shall I do 

 with him?" 



" Don't send him to America or the Colonies un- 

 less you first teach him a trade." 



" There is no place for my son in trade, sir," re- 

 plied the veteran, stiffly ; " and no place for him at 

 home," he added grimly. 



Did this Eoman father probe the true signifi- 

 cance of his words? Had he no bowels of com- 

 passion for the infirmity of his boy ? Did he 

 deliberately determine to expose the weakling, to 

 let him die out of sight, whilst he, the father, 

 kept immaculate his bubble reputation as a gen- 

 tleman ? The lad in question was sent forth abso- 

 lutely unequipped for the struggle (although his 

 breeches were cut by Tautz), and he died. Who 

 killed him? 



For the wise, the strong, the patient, and the 

 thrifty there is gold everywhere ; for the weak and 

 the witless there is no gold anywhere, only the 

 hard quartz in which the metal was once imbedded. 



