“I assure you I’m immensely flattered,” Black had replied, with a real sense of warmth about the heart. He had grown steadily fonder of this interesting boy who was all but a man. “But isn’t your good friend Doctor Burns to be there? Surely he’d save anybody from boredom.”
“There!” Tom’s tone was mocking. “Yes, he’ll be there—after he comes—and before he goes. He’ll come in just in time for the salad—no evening dress, just good old homespun, because he’s had no time to change. Then he’ll be called out before the coffee and the smokes—but he’ll ask for a cup, just the same, and swallow it standing. Then he’ll go out—and all the lights’ll go out for me with him—except, that you’re there to keep the brain fires burning.”
Black had laughed at this dismal picture and had told the youngster that he would endeavour to save his life in the crisis. But now, as he dressed, he was not looking forward to the event. To tell the truth, although he had been present at many college and fraternity banquets, this was actually his first experience at a formal dinner in a private home. He was even experiencing a few doubts as to how to dress.
Good judgment, however, assured him that the one safe decision for a clerical diner-out was clerical dress. Having satisfied himself that every hair was in place, but having found one of his accessories missing, he went in search of Mrs. Hodder.
“I don’t seem to find a handkerchief in my drawer, Mrs. Hodder,” he announced, standing in the doorway of the kitchen and glancing suggestively toward a basketful of unironed clothes below the table at which his housekeeper sat.
“You don’t, Mr. Black?” Mrs. Hodder exclaimed. “Mercy me—I’ll iron you one in a jiffy. If I may make so bold as to say so, sir, it’s not my fault. You use handkerchiefs rather lavish for one who—who owns so few.”
“Haven’t I enough? I’ll get some more at once. Do I—do you mind telling me if I look as if I were going out to dinner?”
The housekeeper turned and surveyed him. Approval lighted her previously sombre eye. “You look as if you were just going to get married,” she observed.
An explosion of unclerical-like laughter answered her. “But I’m dressed no differently from the way I am on Sundays,” he reminded her.
“You have your gown on in the pulpit. And the minute you come home you’re out of that long coat and into the short one. I’ve never seen you stay looking the way you do now five minutes, Mr. Black.”