“Sir,” I returned, with my customary impudence, “it is not of the slightest importance whether you see the joke of it or not.  The public will—­and that is enough for me.”

With that civil speech, I turned on my heel; and the prisoners near all burst out laughing.  Gentleman Jones, not in the least altered or ruffled, smoothed down his wristbands, smiled, and walked away.

The same evening I was in my room alone, designing the new print, when there came a knock at the door, and Gentleman Jones walked in.  I got up, and asked what the devil he wanted.  He smiled, and turned up his long wristbands.

“Only to give you a lesson in politeness,” said Gentleman Jones.

“What do you mean, sir?  How dare you—?”

The answer was a smart slap on the face.  I instantly struck out in a state of fury—­was stopped with great neatness—­and received in return a blow on the head, which sent me down on the carpet half stunned, and too giddy to know the difference between the floor and the ceiling.

“Sir,” said Gentleman Jones, smoothing down his wristbands again, and addressing me blandly as I lay on the floor, “I have the honor to inform you that you have now received your first lesson in politeness.  Always be civil to those who are civil to you.  The little matter of the caricature we will settle on a future occasion.  I wish you good-evening.”

The noise of my fall had been heard by the other occupants of rooms on my landing.  Most fortunately for my dignity, they did not come in to see what was the matter until I had been able to get into my chair again.  When they entered, I felt that the impression of the slap was red on my face still, but the mark of the blow was hidden by my hair.  Under these fortunate circumstances, I was able to keep up my character among my friends, when they inquired about the scuffle, by informing them that Gentleman Jones had audaciously slapped my face, and that I had been obliged to retaliate by knocking him down.  My word in the prison was as good as his; and if my version of the story got fairly the start of his, I had the better chance of the two of being believed.

I was rather anxious, the next day, to know what course my polite and pugilistic instructor would take.  To my utter amazement, he bowed to me as civilly as usual when we met in the yard; he never denied my version of the story; and when my friends laughed at him as a thrashed man, he took not the slightest notice of their agreeable merriment.  Antiquity, I think, furnishes us with few more remarkable characters than Gentleman Jones.

That evening I thought it desirable to invite a friend to pass the time with me.  As long as my liquor lasted he stopped; when it was gone, he went away.  I was just locking the door after him, when it was pushed open gently, but very firmly, and Gentleman Jones walked in.

My pride, which had not allowed me to apply for protection to the prison authorities, would not allow me now to call for help.  I tried to get to the fireplace and arm myself with the poker, but Gentleman Jones was too quick for me.  “I have come, sir, to give you a lesson in morality to-night,” he said; and up went his right hand.