“And not churches,” said his friend. “Every day’s been Sunday with me long enough.”
“And not clothing stores,” said Cousin Egbert firmly. “The Colonel here is awful fussy about my clothes,” he added.
“Is, heh?” inquired his friend. “How do you like this hat of mine?” he asked, turning to me. It was that sudden I nearly fluffed the catch, but recovered myself in time.
“I should consider it a hat of sound wearing properties, sir,” I said.
He took it off, examined it carefully, and replaced it.
“So far, so good,” he said gravely. “But why be fussy about clothes when God has given you only one life to live?”
“Don’t argue about religion,” warned Cousin Egbert.
“I always like to see people well dressed, sir,” I said, “because it makes such a difference in their appearance.”
He slapped his thigh fiercely. “My gosh! that’s true. He’s got you there, Sour-dough. I never thought of that.”
“He makes me wear these chest-protectors on my ankles,” said Cousin Egbert bitterly, extending one foot.