"I am afraid I have made rather an absurd mistake about that strange garment of yours, Lawless; I suppose it is some new kind of greatcoat, is it not?”
“Yes, sir, it is a sort of waterproof cloth, made with Indian rubber.”
“Indian rubber, is it? Well, I fancied so; it has not the nicest smell in the world. I certainly thought it was a smock-frock, though, when I saw you go out in it. Is not it rather awkward to walk in? I found it so when I tried it on just now, and buttoning behind does not seem to me at all a good plan.”
“No, sir, but it is meant to button in front; perhaps you put it on the back part foremost.”
“Hem!” said Dr. Mildman, trying to look as if he thought such a thing impossible, and failing—“it is a very singular article of dress altogether, but I am glad it was not a smock-frock you went out in. I hope,” continued he, turning to Oaklands, with an evident wish to change the conversation, “I hope they took good care of you when you arrived last night?”
This was turning the tables with a vengeance! Lawless became suddenly immersed in Herodotus again.
“Oh! the greatest,” was the reply; “I had so much attention paid me that I was almost upset by it. I was not quite overcome, though,” he continued, with a sly glance towards Lawless, “and Mrs. Mildman gave us some very nice tea, which soon restored me.”
“Well, I'm glad they managed to make you comfortable among them,” observed Dr. Mildman, turning over his papers and books, preparatory to beginning the morning's study.
“Hadn't you better ask him when he expects the sofa will be down?” suggested Coleman to Oaklands, in a whisper.
“No, you jackanapes,” was the reply, “and don't you make me laugh when that old gentleman is in the room, for there's nothing more fatiguing than the attempt to smother a laugh.”