“It is no favour,” said Mr. Vigo; “it is not even an act of
friendliness; it is a freak, and it is my freak; the favour, if there be
one, is conferred by you.”
“But I really do not know what to say,” said Endymion, hesitating and
confused.
“I am not a classical scholar,” said Mr. Vigo, “but there are two things
which I think I understand--men and horses. I like to back them both
when I think they ought to win.”
“But I am scarcely a man,” said Endymion, rather piteously, “and I
sometimes think I shall never win anything.”
“That is my affair,” replied Mr. Vigo; “you are a yearling, and I have
formed my judgment as to your capacity. What I wish to do in your case
is what I have done in others, and some memorable ones. Dress does
not make a man, but it often makes a successful one. The most precious
stone, you know, must be cut and polished. I shall enter your name in my
books for an unlimited credit, and no account to be settled till you are
a privy councillor. I do not limit the credit, because you are a man of
sense and a gentleman, and will not abuse it. But be quite as careful
not to stint yourself as not to be needlessly extravagant. In the first
instance, you would be interfering with my experiment, and that would
not be fair.”
This conversation took place in Mr. Vigo’s counting-house the morning
after the entertainment at his villa. Endymion called upon Mr. Vigo in
his way to his office, as he had been requested to do, and Mr. Vigo
had expressed his wishes and intentions with regard to Endymion, as
intimated in the preceding remarks.
“I have known many an heiress lost by her suitor being ill-dressed,”
said Mr. Vigo. “You must dress according to your age, your pursuits,
your object in life; you must dress too, in some cases, according to
your set. In youth a little fancy is rather expected, but if
political life be your object, it should be avoided, at least after
one-and-twenty. I am dressing two brothers now, men of considerable
position; one is a mere man of pleasure, the other will probably be a
minister of state. They are as like as two peas, but were I to dress
the dandy and the minister the same, it would be bad taste--it would be
ridiculous. No man gives me the trouble which Lord Eglantine does;
he has not made up his mind whether he will be a great poet or prime
minister. ‘You must choose, my lord,’ I tell him. ‘I cannot send you out
looking like Lord Byron if you mean to be a Canning or a Pitt.’ I have
dressed a great many of our statesmen and orators, and I always dressed
them according to their style and the nature of their duties. What all
men should avoid is the ‘shabby genteel.’ No man ever gets over it. I
will save you from that. You had better be in rags.”