To dress was the simplest part of all. He arrayed himself briskly in broadcloth and linen, even submitting patiently to the iron grip of the collar that encircled his neck. His quarters were so cramped that he sat most of the time in order to avail himself of the services of the mirror; but this was an inconvenience that gave him little concern. The worst was over, he reflected, until—
"For the love of Mike!"
That remark was in celebration of the discovery that he possessed every garment of a gentleman save a tie.
He viewed his image with a look of despair. His raiment fitted him astonishingly well, as nearly as he could judge. He had managed to button his collar into place without soiling it. The shirt-front was still immaculate. But no tie!
"You need a nurse," he told himself glumly. "What are you going to do now?"
Yet even at this catastrophe he would not acknowledge himself beaten.
"I suppose it's possible," he muttered, "to go ashore as I am and sandbag a waiter, or even a guest if I can catch one alone. But that has risks, and I don't feel like taking too many to-night. Any kind of a tie would do; I wouldn't be particular. Come! Get clever now and invent something. Remember the wire-cutters!"
Twice he made a search of the pockets of his clothes, faintly hoping that one of them might conceal the article he lacked, but his quest was unrewarded.
"Why does a man have to wear a necktie?" he raged. "And if he feels that he positively must wear one is he really a man? Talk about your slaves to fashion! You never see a necktie on a lady—and you never see a gentleman without one!
"Yes, I said 'gentleman.' Just a while back I was a man, now I'm a gentleman! Being one of those things, I have to have a necktie. I can't see that a man's clothes make anything out of him except a confounded coward."