"Nothing serious I hope, your honour?"
"Serious, why—no Zeb, no. And yet 'tis a matter demanding a nice judgment, a—er—a reasoned deliberation, as 'twere."
"Certainly, sir!"
"Yet for the life of me I can come to no decision for one of 'em is much like t'other after all save for colour, d'ye see, Zeb, and serve the same purpose. Yet to-morrow—to-morrow I would look my very best and—er—youngest as 'twere, Zeb."
"Meaning which and who, sir—how and where, your honour?"
"Come and see, Zeb."
Herewith the Major turned and strode away, the Sergeant marching exactly two paces in his rear and without another word until, reaching the study in due course, the Major carefully closed the door and pointed with his crab-tree staff to some half-dozen of his new suits of clothes disposed advantageously on table and chairs.
"There they are, Zeb," said he, "though egad, now I look at 'em again they don't seem exactly right, somehow——"
"Why, sir, you've only got 'em mixed up a bit—this here dove-coloured coat goes wi' these here breeches and vicey-versey—this mulberry velvet wi'—
"Aye, to be sure, Zeb, to be sure. Now I see 'em so, I rather think we'll make it the mulberry, though to be sure the pearl-grey hath its merits—hum! We must deliberate, Zeb! 'Twill be either the mulberry or the grey or the blue and silver or t'other with the embroidery or—hum! 'Tis a problem, Zeb, a problem—we must think—a council of war!"