“Oh, yes, you would,” protested Tembarom, cheerfully. “You'd have said I talked through my nose, and I should have laughed at you for dropping your h's. Now you're rattled because I'm Mr. Temple Temple Barholm; but you're not half as rattled as I am.”
“You'll get over it, sir, almost immediately,” Pearson assured him, hopefully.
“Of course I shall,” said Tembarom, with much courage. “But to start right I've got to get over YOU.”
“Me, sir?” Pearson breathed anxiously.
“Yes. That's what I want to get off my chest. Now, first off, you came in here to try to explain to me that, owing to my New York valet having left my New York wardrobe behind, I've not got anything to wear, and so I shall have to buy some clothes.”
“I failed to find any dress-shirts, sir,” began Pearson, hesitatingly.
Mr. Temple Barholm grinned.
“I always failed to find them myself. I never had a dress-shirt. I never owned a suit of glad rags in my life.”
“Gl—glad rags, sir?” stammered Pearson, uncertainly.
“I knew you didn't catch on when I said that to you before dinner. I mean claw-hammer and dress-suit things. Don't you be frightened, Pearson. I never had six good shirts at once, or two pair of shoes, or more than four ten-cent handkerchiefs at a time since I was born. And when Mr. Palford yanked me away from New York, he didn't suspect a fellow could be in such a state. And I didn't know I was in a state, anyhow. I was too busy to hunt up people to tell me, because I was rushing something important right through, and I couldn't stop. I just bought the first things I set eyes on and crammed them into my trunk. There, I guess you know the most of this, but you didn't know I knew you knew it. Now you do, and you needn't be afraid to hurt my feelings by telling me I haven't a darned thing I ought to have. You can go straight ahead.”