Tom followed directions obediently, while his companion was similarly employed. Of course, it was necessary to wash, also. The clothes were too large for him, but still not much, as he was a well-grown boy, and Mr. Mordaunt was by no means large.
"How do you like the looks?" asked the young man, as Tom surveyed himself in a handsome mirror.
"I expect it's me, but I ain't certain," said Tom. "It'll take me some time to grow to these clothes."
"They are rather big, that's a fact," said the young man, smiling. "When the servant comes up with the coffee, we'll send down our suits to be dried. Will your friends feel anxious about you?"
"There's one will, I expect," said Tom.
"Who is that—your mother?"
"No; it's my intimate friend, Maurice Walton. He can't bear me out of his sight, or in it, either."
Mordaunt laughed.
"So he's very devoted, is he?"
"You bet he is."