Janet Loses her Bet.
Accident—that is to say, a chance somewhat more fortuitous than the common hazards which we group together and call existence—pushed Edwin into the next stage of his career. As, on one afternoon in late June, he was turning the corner of Trafalgar Road to enter the shop, he surprisingly encountered Charlie Orgreave, whom he had not seen for several years. And when he saw this figure, at once fashionably and carelessly dressed, his first thought was one of deep satisfaction that he was wearing his new Shillitoe suit of clothes. He had scarcely worn the suit at all, but that afternoon his father had sent him over to Hanbridge about a large order from Bostocks, the recently established drapers there whose extravagant advertising had shocked and pained the commerce of the Five Towns. Darius had told him to ‘titivate himself,’ a most startling injunction from Darius, and thus the new costly suit had been, as it were, officially blessed and henceforth could not be condemned.
“How do, Teddy?” Charlie greeted him. “I’ve just been in to see you at your shop.”
Edwin paused.
“Hello! The Sunday!” he said quietly. And he kept thinking, as his eyes noted details of Charlie’s raiment, “It’s a bit of luck I’ve got these clothes on.” And he was in fact rather sorry that Charlie probably paid no real attention to clothes. The new suit had caused Edwin to look at everybody’s clothes, had caused him to walk differently, and to put his shoulders back, and to change the style of his collars; had made a different man of Edwin.
“Come in, will you?” Edwin suggested.
They went into the shop together. Stifford smiled at them both, as if to felicitate them on the chance which had brought them together.
“Come in here,” said Edwin, indicating the small office.
“The lion’s den, eh?” observed the Sunday.
He, as much as Edwin, was a little tongue-tied and nervous.