“In half-an-hour. We have to get up to town, and then go across to Paddington.”
“I’ll hurry through my breakfast then, and go and change my things.”
“What for?” cried the doctor. “You couldn’t be better.”
“But I should look so absurd, sir, dressed like this.”
“Absurd?”
“The absurdity is only in your imagination, my boy,” said Sir John. “Go as you are.”
Jack looked troubled, but he said nothing, for he was making a brave fight to master his antipathy to his father’s projects, and without another word he went on with his breakfast, receiving the next time he caught his father’s eye a nod of approval which meant a good deal.
But the pith helmet was a severe trial just before the carriage came to the door, and he stood in the hall with the round-topped head-piece standing on the table, for it would recall Edward’s extinguisher, and his own remark that morning concerning the Guido-Fawkes-like aspect of their man.
“Don’t seem to like your topper, Jack, lad,” said the doctor, smiling.
“Well, who could?” cried the boy sharply. “It looks so absurd.”