“Well, nephew,” he cried, “what do you think of the prospect of coming to town with me?”
“I thank you, sir, for the kind interest which you take in me,” said I.
“But you must be a credit to me. My nephew must be of the best if he is to be in keeping with the rest of me.”
“You’ll find him a chip of good wood, sir,” said my father.
“We must make him a polished chip before we have done with him. Your aim, my dear nephew, must always be to be in bon ton. It is not a case of wealth, you understand. Mere riches cannot do it. Golden Price has forty thousand a year, but his clothes are disastrous. I assure you that I saw him come down St. James’s Street the other day, and I was so shocked at his appearance that I had to step into Vernet’s for a glass of orange brandy. No, it is a question of natural taste, and of following the advice and example of those who are more experienced than yourself.”
“I fear, Charles, that Roddy’s wardrobe is country-made,” said my mother.
“We shall soon set that right when we get to town. We shall see what Stultz or Weston can do for him,” my uncle answered. “We must keep him quiet until he has some clothes to wear.”
This slight upon my best Sunday suit brought a flush to my mother’s cheeks, which my uncle instantly observed, for he was quick in noticing trifles.
“The clothes are very well for Friar’s Oak, sister Mary,” said he. “And yet you can understand that they might seem rococo in the Mall. If you leave him in my hands I shall see to the matter.”
“On how much, sir,” asked my father, “can a young man dress in town?”