"I can't run the chance of pneumonia at my age," went on Mr. Van Pycke. "Bellows, do you suppose there's a dry pair of trousers in the house? I'm wet to the knees. I must have shoes. Demmit, Bosworth, do something!"
"My dear father, don't look at me. I'm using my trousers. I dare say Bellows has an extra suit of livery."
"If you wouldn't mind wearing brown trousers with a yellow stripe down the leg, sir," began Bellows.
"Anything," interrupted Mr. Van Pycke, irritably. "But I must also have shoes."
Bellows was thoughtful. "I think, sir, that there is an old pair of riding boots under the stairs, sir. They belonged to poor Mr. Scoville, sir."
"I don't like the idea of wearing other men's shoes—" objected Mr. Van Pycke, with an apprehensive glance at his son.
"I don't think it would matter, sir," said Bellows, affably. "Mr. Scoville hasn't worn them in two years and a half."
Mr. Van Pycke's look of horror caused Bellows to realize.
"I beg pardon, sir. It would be rather grewsome getting into dead men's boots, sir. I never thought—"
"That's undoubtedly what Mr. Van Pycke is contemplating, Bellows," said Bosworth, slyly.