“But it is too late now, it is half-past eight o’clock.”
“Oh, I can take you to a shop where they keep this sort of thing. Besides, there are twelve hours before we start, and by paying for it one can get pretty nearly anything made in twelve hours.”
Mr. Beveridge suffered himself to be persuaded. Fortunately the outfitter had a couple of suits ordered by one of the officers of a ship of war in harbour nearly completed. These he agreed to alter to fit Mr. Beveridge by the morning, and to put on extra hands to turn out fresh suits for the person for whom they were intended. The gold lace, white facings, and other distinguishing marks would be removed, and plain brass buttons substituted for the royal buttons. Two or three pairs of shoes with low heels were also obtained. The clothes came home at seven in the morning, and Mr. Beveridge came down to breakfast looking like the smart captain of a merchantman.
“I feel as if I were dressed for a masquerade, Horace,” he said with a smile.
A DISCUSSION ABOUT CLOTHES
“You look first-rate, father, and a lot more comfortable than usual, I can tell you.”
It was at Martyn’s suggestion that Horace had urged his father to make a change in his attire.
“It would be a good thing if you could get him to put on sea-going togs,” the sailor had said. “He is the owner of as smart a craft as ever sailed out of British waters, and he will look a good deal more at home on the deck of his own ship in regular yachtsman’s dress than he would rigged up in his ruffles and boots.”