"I'll let you see," said the Coat, flourishing the Cane.
The Cane could not help himself, for he was thin.
Thump, thump, thump, went the Coat, blowing out such clouds and clouds of dust from the Valet's clothes, never remembering he was covering himself with dust, and making himself look shockingly shabby. The Valet called out as loud as he could for help, but nobody heard him, and the Coat kept on thumping till his sleeves fairly ached. Then he dropped the Cane, fell on the dirty floor, and whisked his tails with great satisfaction.
The Cane jumped up, and lifted down the Valet, who went off to his own room.
A few days after, the master came in, and looked at the Coat, which he had meant to wear at a jolly garden party.
"Oh," said he, "how dreadfully shabby that Coat looks."
"Yes, sir," said the Valet, "he won't allow himself to be brushed or dusted."
"Oh, won't he?" said the Master, "that's all very fine, but it won't do for me." So he seized the Cane, and gave the Coat one good thump. But such a cloud of dust came out of the Coat that the Master threw down the Cane, and ran to the door.
"Oh," cried he, "I can't wear that frightful old thing any more. It is disgracefully shabby and dusty. Sell it to the first 'ole clo'' man that comes along." But he took the Hat, and went to the nice party.
And what do you think became of this foolish Coat? Why, he was hung on a stick in a field to make a scare-crow. And serve him right, a stupid thing.