The world, when it knows
nothing else of him, measures a man by his clothes; but the man
himself, if he be neither a genius nor a philosopher, but merely a
clay-born, measures himself by his pocket-book. He cannot help it,
and can no more fling it from him than can the bashful young man his
self-consciousness when crossing a ballroom floor.
I remember once absenting myself from civilization for weary months.
When I returned, it was to a strange city in another country. The
people were but slightly removed from my own breed, and they spoke
the same tongue, barring a certain barbarous accent which I learned
was far older than the one imbibed by me with my mother's milk. A
fur cap, soiled and singed by many camp-fires, half sheltered the
shaggy tendrils of my uncut hair. My foot-gear was of walrus hide,
cunningly blended with seal gut. The remainder of my dress was as
primal and uncouth. I was a sight to give merriment to gods and men.
Olympus must have roared at my coming. The world, knowing me not,
could judge me by my clothes alone.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68