“Oh, sir, that's no reason; there's Mr. Coleman's not got the leastest westige of a hair upon his chin, and he's been mowing away with the greatest of persewerance for the last six months, and sends his rashier to be ground every three weeks, regilar, in order to get a beard—but what can I do for you, sir?”
“Why,” replied I, trying to look grave, “it's very odd, but I have lost—that is, I can't find—my trousers anywhere. I put them on this chair last night, I know.”
“Umph! that's sing'lar, too; I was just a coming upstairs to brush 'em for you; you did not hear anybody come into your room after you went to bed, did you, sir?”
“No; but then I was so tired—I slept as sound as a top.”
“Ah! I shouldn't much wonder if Mr. Coleman knew something about 'em: perhaps you had better put on another pair, and, if I can find 'em, I'll bring 'em back after breakfast.”
This was very good advice, and, therefore, of course, impossible to follow; for, on examining my trunk, lo and behold! dress pantaloons, white ducks, et hoc genus omne, had totally disappeared, and I seemed to stand a very good chance of making my first appearance at my tutor's breakfast-table in an extemporary “kilt,” improvised for the occasion out of two towels and a checked neckcloth. In this extremity Thomas, as a last resource, knocked at Coleman's door, informing him that I should be glad to speak to him—a proceeding speedily followed by the appearance of that gentleman in propria persona.
“Good-morning, Fairlegh! hope you slept well. You are looking cold; had not you better get some clothes on? Mildman will be down in a minute, and there will be a pretty row if we are not all there; he's precious particular, I can tell you.”
“That is exactly what I want to do,” replied I; “but the fact is, somebody has taken away all my trousers in the night.”
“Bless me! you don't say so? Another case of pilfering! this is getting serious: I will call Lawless—I say, Lawless!” “Well, what's the row?” was the reply. “Have the French landed? or is the kitchen chimney on fire? eh! What do I behold! Fairlegh, lightly and elegantly attired in nothing but his shirt, and Thomas standing like Niobe, the picture of woe! Here's a sight for a father!”
“Why, it's a bad job,” said Coleman; “do you know, here's another case of pilfering; Fairlegh has had all his trousers stolen in the night.”