Major Norton regarded Joe with displeasure.
“It cannot matter to you how Oscar chooses to dress,” he said. “I apprehend that you and he are not on a level.”
“He is your son, and I am your hired boy,” said Joe. “I admit that. But I don’t see how you can ask me to wear a suit like that.”
“I apprehend that you are unsuitably proud, Joseph.”
“I hope not, sir; but I don’t want to attract everybody’s notice as I walk the streets. If I had stained the suit myself, I should have felt bound to wear it, but it was Oscar’s carelessness that destroyed its appearance, and I don’t think I ought to suffer for that. Besides, it is much too small for me. Let me show you.”
Joe pulled off his coat and put on the stained one. The sleeves were from two to three inches too short, and it was so far from meeting in front, on account of his being much broader than Oscar, that his shoulders seemed drawn back to meet each other behind.
“It doesn’t exactly fit,” said the major; “but it can be let out easily. I will send it to Miss Pearce—the village tailoress—to fix it over for you.”
“Thank you, Major Norton,” said Joe, in a decided tone, “but I hope you won’t go to that expense, for I shall not be willing to wear it under any circumstances.”
“I cannot believe my ears,” said Major Norton, with dignified displeasure. “How old are you, Joseph?”
“Fifteen, sir.”