At least, he displayed a handsome suit of evening clothes and asked Hiram if he was not going to wear his own dress suit. Hiram hauled the suit in question out of his trunk and carefully examined it. In his eyes the clothes looked just the same as they had when he laid them away.
"Here, Jim," he said to Larry. "You and I are about of a size. I make you a free-will offering of these—pants, coat and vest! Somehow, I don't fancy my appearance in the 'soup to nuts.' My figure is not built right for such garments. I am sure no tailor could make Hiram Strong look as though he belonged in a suit of this kind."
Perhaps he was right. At least, nobody considered him out of place when he arrived at the Bronson house and appeared as one of the few men who were not in evening dress.
In another matter Hiram showed wisdom on this occasion. Lettie was just as kind to him as she always had been. He might have had three or four dances with her. He accepted two, and sat them out with her in a corner of the conservatory, although Ted Cheltenham danced with every girl he could find—and danced well.
"You are a funny boy, Hiram Strong," said Lettie, looking at him curiously.
"How so?"
"Why, preferring to sit here rather than to getting out on that beautifully waxed floor," she said.
"I would be 'funnier' there than I look here," he replied grimly. "I know my failings better than I used to, Lettie."
"Why, Hiram!"
"Sure I do. I am only going to tackle in the future what I have a fair chance to accomplish."