“That we will, me boy,” responded Battersleigh.  “It’s mesilf will inthrojuce Captain Franklin to his first haythin ball.  Our life on the claim’s elevatin’, for it leaves time for thought, but it is a bit slow at times.  An’ will we come?  Man, we’ll be the first.”

“Well, then, so long, fellers,” said Curly.  “I got to be movin’ along a little.  See you at the dance, sure.”

“Now, as to a ball, Battersleigh,” said Franklin, argumentatively, when they were alone, “how can I go?  I’ve not the first decent thing to wear to such a place.”

“Tut, tut!” said Battersleigh.  “There speaks the coxcombry of youth.  I make no doubt ye’d be the best-dressed man there if ye’d go as ye stand now.  But what about Batty?  On me honour, Ned, I’ve never been so low in kit as I am this season here, not since I was lance sergeant in the Tinth.  You’re able to pull out your blue uniform, I know, an’ b’gad! the uniform of an officer is full dress the worrld over!  Look at Batty, half mufti, and his allowance a bit late, me boy.  But does Batty despair?  By no means.  ’Tis at times like this that gaynius rises to the occasion.”

Franklin grinned amiably.  “Thank you for the suggestion about the uniform, at least,” he said.  “Now, if we can fix you up as well.”

Battersleigh came and stood before him, waving a long forefinger.

“Listen to me, Ned,” he began, “an’ I’ll lay down to ye a few of the fundamental rules of conduct and appar’l.

“A gintleman never lies; a gintleman never uses unseemly haste; a gintleman is always ready for love and ready for war—­for, Ned, me boy, without love and war we’d miss the only two joys of life.  Thereto, a gintleman must shoot, fence, ride, dance, and do anny of ’em like a gintleman.  For outwardly appar’l, seein’ him clane within, me boy, a gintleman should make the best of what he finds about him.  I have slept sweet in turban or burnous in me time.  Dress is nothing that we may always control.  But if ye found yeself a bit low in kit, as Batty is this day, what would ye say, Ned, me boy, was the first salient—­what is the first essintial in the dress of a gintleman, me boy?”

“Linen,” said Franklin, “or is it gloves?”

“Ned,” said Battersleigh solemnly, laying a hand upon his shoulder, “ye’re the dearest boy in the world.  Ye’re fit to be lance sergeant yersilf in the ould Tinth Rigiment.  Right ye are, quite right.  White, white, me boy, is the first colour of a gintleman!  White, to show the integrity of his honour and the claneness of his merit roll.  Shure, he must have his weapons, and his horse—­for a gintleman always rides—­and his hat and gloves are matter of course.  But, first of all, essintial to him as the soap and crash, is white, sir—­yes, white!  A touch of white at neck and wrist anny gintleman must show who presints himself at a ball.”

“But, now, how?”

Battersleigh pointed a long finger at Franklin, then turned it upon himself, tapping with import upon his forehead.  “Look at me, at Batty,” he said.  “Here is where gaynius comes in, me friend.  I may be far from the home that bore me—­God prosper them that knows it now!—­and I may be a bit behind with me allowance; but never yet was Batty without the arms and the appar’l of a gintleman.  Ned, come with me.”