I CHANGE MY NATIONALITY
Guest had never lost his sense of humor. As we left the agent's office and walked down Wellington Street into the Strand, he studied for a few moments my personal appearance, and began to laugh softly.
"My friend," he said, "you are wonderful! After all, beauty is but skin deep! Hardross Courage, if I remember rightly, was rather a good-looking fellow. Who would have believed that ready-made clothes from Hamburg, glasses and a beard could work such a change?"
I looked down a little disconsolately at my baggy trousers and thick clumsy boots.
"It's all very well," I replied; "but you're not exactly a distinguished looking object yourself!"
Guest smiled.
"I admit it," he answered; "but you must remember that for ten years, since I was kicked out of the diplomatic service in fact, I have studied the art of disguising myself. You, on the contrary, when I first had the pleasure of meeting you, were a somewhat obvious person. Who would have thought that a fortnight on a German steamer and six weeks in Hamburg would have turned you out such a finished article?"
"It's these d——d clothes," I answered a little irritably.
"They are helpful, certainly," Guest admitted. "Come, let us go and have luncheon chez nous."
We turned northwards again towards Soho, and entered presently a small restaurant of foreign appearance. The outside, which had once been painted white, was now more than a little dingy. Greyish-colored muslin blinds were stretched across the front windows. Within, the smell of cooking was all-pervading. A short dark man, with black moustache and urbane smile, greeted us at the door, and led us to a table.