“Get out! Don’t be a humbug. You’re red hot to get into them.”
“Absurd! Why, I shall be always wearing that sort of thing soon.”
“Gammon!” cried Morton. “Oh, I say, what a jolly impostor you are, Gil. Come on, lads, let’s have him in, and make him paint himself up for our glorification.”
“Oh, if you all particularly wish it,” I said, “I don’t mind.”
There was a roar of laughter at this; and to hide my annoyance, I joined in, and was soon after spreading out jacket and coatee, striped trousers, belts, and slings, all of which, after being duly admired, were donned and exhibited in their proper places.
“Talk about pomp and vanity!” cried Morton.
“Don’t be jealous,” I replied, as I began to feel excited.
“I’m not a bit, Gil; but you might own to being proud as a peacock of your togs. Come, you are—aren’t you?”
“I suppose so,” I said, as I involuntarily glanced at myself in the glass; and then I felt hotter than ever, for I saw my fellow-pupils laughing, and this was the signal for me to hurry out of the stiff embroidered uniform as rapidly as I could.
But that night, when I went up to bed!