Mr. Cox tried on two. The deceptive appearance of the second Mr. Cox pronounced as perfect.
“Looks more natural on you than your own hair, blessed if it doesn’t!” said Mr. Cox.
The wig also was promised within the hour. The spirit of completeness descended upon the Babe. On his way back to his lodgings in Great Queen Street, he purchased a ladylike umbrella and a veil.
Now, a quarter of an hour after Johnny Bulstrode had made his exit by the door of Mr. Stinchcombe’s shop, one, Harry Bennett, actor and member of the Autolycus Club, pushed it open and entered. The shop was empty. Harry Bennett hammered with his stick and waited. A piled-up bundle of clothes lay upon the counter; a sheet of paper, with a name and address scrawled across it, rested on the bundle. Harry Bennett, given to idle curiosity, approached and read the same. Harry Bennett, with his stick, poked the bundle, scattering its items over the counter.
“Donth do thath!” said the shopman, coming up. “Juth been putting ’em together.”
“What the devil,” said Harry Bennett, “is Johnny Bulstrode going to do with that rig-out?”
“How thoud I know?” answered the shopman. “Private theathricals, I suppoth. Friend o’ yourth?”
“Yes,” replied Harry Bennett. “By Jove! he ought to make a good girl. Should like to see it!”
“Well arthk him for a ticket. Donth make ’em dirty,” suggested the shopman.
“I must,” said Harry Bennett, and talked about his own affairs.