Tinker shook his hand gravely.
When they came back to the hotel, at the sight of her father, Dorothy cried, "Oh, papa, what have you been doing? You look ten years younger. And what a nice shape your head is!"
"Yes," said Septimus Rainer, "I pride myself on the shape of my head. But it's all your young friend's doing."
"Wait till his clothes come," said Tinker with modest pride.
"I shall look fine in those clothes, I tell you—fine," said Septimus Rainer, and his air was almost fatuous.
"I think he ought to have a valet," said Tinker. "You can't learn about clothes all out of your own head. Either you must have always worn the right clothes, or you want someone to teach you."
"Of course, you must have a valet, papa," said Dorothy.
"I can't—I can't have a man messing about me," said Septimus Rainer in a tone of almost pathetic pleading.
"I'm afraid there's no way out of it," said Tinker firmly.
"I'm sure there isn't if Tinker says so. He knows all about these things," said Dorothy. "You must be brave, papa: you really must."