"His old overcoat, Willie—what a question?" replied Alice, evidently thinking that I was again drifting back into insensibility.
"Did he continue to wear it up to the day of his death?" I asked.
"No. Cold weather set in very early this last fall, and he was compelled to don his winter clothing earlier than usual. He had a new overcoat made within a fortnight before he died. He had it on at the time of his seizure. But why do you ask?"
"Was the new coat cut by a fashionable tailor, and had it a fur collar and cuffs?"
"It was cut at Stovel's, I think. It had a fur collar and cuffs."
"When did he begin to wear a wig?"
"About the same time that he began to wear his new overcoat. I wrote you a letter at the time, making merry over his youthful appearance and hinting—of course only in jest—that he was looking out for a young wife. But you surely did not receive my letter. You must have been on your way home before it was written."
"I left Melbourne on the 11th of October. The wig, I suppose, was buried with him?"
"Yes."
"And where is the overcoat?"