“I think you’re quite right, Father,” said Tommy, “and if I can, I’ll help you to make them.”
Next day the father and son set to work, and Tommy contrived to make himself so useful, that the Tailor hardly knew how he got through so much work.
“It’s not like the same thing,” he broke out at last, “to have some one a bit helpful about you; both for the tailoring and for company’s sake. I’ve not done such a pleasant morning’s work since your poor mother died. I’ll tell you what it is, Tommy,” he added, “if you were always like this, I shouldn’t much care whether Brownie stayed or went. I’d give up his help to have yours.”
“I’ll be back directly,” said Tommy, who burst out of the room in search of his brother.
“I’ve come away,” he said squatting down, “because I can’t bear it. I very nearly let it all out, and I shall soon. I wish the things weren’t going to come to me,” he added, kicking a stone in front of him. “I wish he’d measured you, Johnnie.”
“I’m very glad he didn’t,” said Johnnie. “I wish he’d kept them himself.”
“Bottle-green, with brass buttons,” murmured Tommy, and therewith fell into a reverie.
The next night the suit was finished, and laid by the bread and milk.
“We shall see,” said the old lady, in a withering tone. There is not much real prophetic wisdom in this truism, but it sounds very awful, and the Tailor went to bed somewhat depressed.
Next morning the Brownies came down as usual.