Billy Little was for going home at noon, but Dic begged him to remain. The day was very long for Dic, notwithstanding Billy's companionship, and twice during the afternoon he induced his friend to exhibit the Brummel coat at the street-crossing a short distance south of the house wherein the girl of girls lay ill and grieving. After much persuasion, Billy consented to accompany Dic on his visit that evening to Miss Tousy. The Schwitzer coat was carefully brushed, the pale face was closely shaved and delicately powdered, and the few remaining hairs were made to do the duty of many in covering Billy's blushing baldness.
"I wish I had one of my waistcoats here," said our little coxcomb. "I would button it if I had to go into stays—egad! I would. I will show you those waistcoats some day,—India silk—corn color, with a touch of gold braid at the pockets, ivory buttons the size of a sovereign, with gold centres, made by the artist who made the coat. The coat is all right. Wouldn't be ashamed to wear it to a presentation. I will button it over this waistcoat and it will not be noticed. How do you like this stock—all right?"
"I think it is."
"I have a better one at home. Got it down by the bank. Smith, Dye and Company, Limited, Haberdashers. I can recommend the place if—if you ever go to London. Brummel's haberdasher—Brummel knew the best places. Depend upon him for that. Where he dealt, there you would hear the tramp of many feet. He made Schwitzer's fortune. Wonderful man, Brummel. Wonderful man, and I like him if he does owe me a thousand pounds thirty years past due. Egad! it has been so long since I carried a stick I have almost lost the knack of the thing. A stick is a useful thing to a gentleman. Gives him grace, furnishes occupation for his hands. Gloves in one hand, stick in the other—no man need get his hands mixed. Got this stick down on Washington Street an hour ago. How do I seem to handle it?" He walked across the room, holding the stick in the most approved fashion—of thirty years before.
"It's fine, Billy Little, it's fine," answered Dic, sorry to see an apparent weakness in his little friend, though loving him better for the sake of it. The past had doubled back on Billy for a day, and he felt a touch of his youth—of that olden time when the first dandy of England was heir-apparent to the crown and blubbered over an ill-fitting coat. If you will look at the people of those times through the lens of that fact, you will see something interesting and amusing.
After many glances toward the mirror, Billy announced that he was ready, and marched upon Miss Tousy, exulting in the fact that there was not in all the state another coat like the one he wore. Billy's vanity, to do him justice, was not at all upon his own account. He wished to appear well for Dic's sake, and ransacked his past life for points in etiquette and manner once familiar, but now almost forgotten by him and by the world. His quaint old resurrections were comical and apt to create mirth, but beneath their oddities I believe a discerning person would easily have recognized the gentleman.
I shall not describe to you Billy's Regency bow when Dic presented him to Miss Tousy; nor shall I bring into his conversation all the "My dear madams," "Dear ladys," and "Beg pardons," scattered broadcast in his effort to do credit to his protégé. But Miss Tousy liked Billy, while she enjoyed his old-fashioned affectations; and in truth the man was in all respects worthy of the coat.
"Rita is very ill," Miss Tousy said. "Mrs. Bays says your conduct almost killed her daughter. Two doctors are with her now."
"Terrible, my dear madam, terrible," interrupted Billy, and Miss Tousy continued:—
"I whispered to Rita that you would remain, and she murmured, 'I'm so glad. Tell him mother forced me to promise that I would never see him again, and that promise is killing me. I can't forget it even for a moment. Ask him to forgive me, and ask him if it will be wrong for me to break the promise when I get well. I cannot decide whether it would be wrong for me to keep it or to break it. Both ways seem wicked to me!'"