“To the opera?” he repeated. “Why, that’s a—a sort of singin’ theater ain’t it?”
“Yes, you’re fond of music; you told me so. And Aïda is beautiful. Come on! it will do us both good.”
“Hum! Well, I don’t know.”
“I do. Get ready.”
The captain looked at his caller’s evening clothes.
“What do you mean by gettin’ ready?” he asked. “You’ve got on your regimentals, open front and all. My uniform is the huntin’ case kind; fits in better with church sociables and South Denboro no’theasters. If I wore one of those vests like yours Abbie’d make me put on a red flannel lung-protector to keep from catchin’ pneumonia. And she’d think ’twas sinful waste besides, runnin’ the risk of sp’ilin’ a clean biled shirt so quick. Won’t I look like an undertaker, sittin’ alongside of you?”
“Not a bit. If it will ease your mind I’ll change to a business suit.”
“I don’t care. You know how I feel; we had a little talk about hats a spell ago, you remember. If you’re willin’ to take me ‘just as I am, without a plea,’ as the hymn-tune says, why, I cal’late I’ll say yes and go. Set down and wait while I get on my ceremonials.”
He retired to the curtain alcove, and Pearson heard him rustling about, evidently making a hurried change of raiment. During this process he talked continuously.
“Jim,” he said, “I ain’t been to the theater but once since I landed in New York. Then I went to see a play named ‘The Heart of a Sailor.’ Ha! ha! that was a great show! Ever take it in, did you?”