“A week!” said the doctor; “but what am I to do now? The boy can’t go like that.”
“Ready-made, sir? I’ve plenty of new and fashionable suits exactly his size.”
“Bring some,” said the doctor laconically; “and shirts and stockings and boots. Everything he wants. Do you understand!”
Mr Bleddan perfectly understood, and Dexter stood with his eyes sparkling as he heard the list of upper and under garments, boots, caps, everything which the tailor and clothier considered necessary.
The moment the man had gone, Dexter made a dash to recommence his Ixion-like triumphal dance, but this time Helen caught his hand and stopped him.
“No, no, not here,” she said quietly; and not in the least abashed, but in the most obedient way, the boy submitted.
“It was because I was so jolly glad: that’s all.”
“Hah!” said the doctor, smiling. “Now, I like that, Helen. Work with me, and all that roughness will soon pass away.”
“I say, will that chap be long?” cried Dexter, running to the window and looking out. “Am I to have all those things for my own self, and may I wear ’em directly?”
“Look here, my lad; you shall have everything that’s right and proper for you, if you are a good boy.”