"It is not for sale, however." Brother Copas faced the two Hebrews with his ironical smile. "I am sorry to disappoint you, sirs, but I have no old clothes to dispose of, at present."
"No offence, no offence, I hope?" put in Mr. Julius. "My brother, sir, is an artist—"
"Be easy, sir: I am sure that he intended none. For the rest," pursued Brother Copas with a glance at Mr. Colt and a twinkle, "if we had time, all four of us here, to tell how by choice or necessity we come to be dressed as we are, I dare say our stories might prove amusing as the Calenders' in The Arabian Nights."
"You remind me," said Mr. Isidore, "zat I at any rate must not keep zese good Territorials standing idle. Another time—at your service—"
He waved a hand and hurried off to give an instruction to the sergeant-major. His brother followed and overtook him.
"Damn it all, Isidore! You might remember that Merchester is my constituency, and my majority less than half a hundred."
"Hein? For what else am I here but to helb you to increase it?"
"Then why the devil start by offending that old chap as you did?"
"Eh? I offended him somehow. Zat is certain: zough why on earth he should object to having his dress admired—" Mr. Isidore checked his speech upon a sudden surmise. "My goot Julius, you are not telling me he has a Vote!"
"You silly fool, of course he has!"