Indeed, his "chanty began at home;" and it was so fond of its
residence, that it stopped there. To have been born on the other side
of the British Channel, spread an ocean between every poor foreigner
and Mr. Vincent's purse which the swiftest wings of chanty could
never cross. "He saw no reason," he said, "for feeding the natural
enemies of our country. Would any man be mad enough to take the meat
from his children's mouths and throw it to a swarm of wolves just
landed on the coast?" "These wolves" were his favorite metaphor when
he spoke of the unhappy French, or of any other penniless strangers
that came in his way.
After this explanation, it may appear paradoxical to mention an
inconsistency in the mind of Mr. Vincent which never permitted him to
discover the above Cainish mark of outlawry upon a wealthy visitor,
of whatever country. In fact, it was with him as with many: riches
were a splendid and thick robe that concealed all blemishes; take it
away, and probably the poor stripped wretch would be treated worse
than a criminal.
That his new patient possessed some property was sufficient to ensure
the respect and medical skill of Mr. Vincent; and when he entered his
own house, he told his wife he had found "a very good job at Mrs.
Robson's, in the illness of her lodger--a foreigner of some sort," he
said, "who, by her account, had feathered his nest well in the spoils
of battle (like Moore's honest Irishman) with jewels and gold.
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