'I've decided to go through a sort of mental training,' replied William, speaking rather quickly and avoiding my eye. 'I think a man has no right to become the slave of habit. Directly he feels he is dropping into a groove he ought to face about and go in exactly the opposite direction.'
'Is that what you're doing just now?' I asked, wondering if this was an explanation of the Elizabeth episode.
'Exactly. It is the only way to build up one's character. Now, some people might think me a little careless regarding dress.'
'The ultra-fastidious might consider you a trifle insouciant, William.'
'That is one of the points in my character I intend to correct.' He dived into his pocket as he spoke and produced a brown paper parcel. William can carry any number of things in his pockets without making his figure look any bulgier or more unsymmetrical than usual. He boasts that he has at times gone on a three weeks' walking tour with all the luggage he required for that period disposed about his person, his damp sponge (concealed in the crown of his hat) keeping his head delightfully cool in the heat of the day.
'What have you got there, William?' I inquired as he unfolded the parcel.
'My first step in the evolution of character,' he replied solemnly, and took out a pair of white spats, and some fawn-coloured gloves.
'You don't mean you're going to wear those?' gasped Henry.
'I am—abhorrent as they are to me,' rejoined William mournfully.
'You may call it building up character if you like,' said Henry shortly, 'but I call it a lot of damned rot.' He pulled hard at his cigar, and then added, 'You're suffering from softening of the brain, my boy, or something of the sort.'