"Which one, sir?" the valet inquired, respectfully, pausing in his work.
"Which one?" echoed Dawson. "Wh—which—Oh, Lord! Excuse me, but how many bodies do I happen to have?" he added.
"Five—though a gentleman of your position, sir, ought to have at least ten, if I may make so bold as to speak, sir," said the valet. "Your golf body is pretty well used up, sir, you've played so many holes with it; and I really think you need a new one for evening wear, sir. The one you got from London is rather shabby, don't you think? It can't digest the simplest kind of a dinner, sir."
"The one I got from London, eh?" said Dawson. "I got a body in London, did I? And where's the one I got in Paris?" he demanded, sarcastically.
"You gave that to the coachman, sir," replied the valet. "It never fitted you, and, as you said yourself, it was rather gaudy, sir."
"Oh—I said that, did I? It was one of these loud, assertive, noisy bodies, eh?"
"Yes, sir, extremely so. None of your friends liked you in it, sir," said the valet. "Shall I fetch your lounging body, or will you wish to go to church this morning?" he continued.
"Bring 'em all in; bring every blessed bone of 'em," said Dawson. "I want to see how I look in 'em all; and bring me a morning paper."
"A what, sir?" asked the valet, apparently somewhat perplexed by the order.
"A morning paper, you idiot!" retorted Dawson, growing angry at the question. The man seemed to be so very stupid.