"Oh!..."
"Moreover, you must be very particular about your dress; it must be absolutely faultless, but very quiet: clothing sober—dark greys and blacks—and plain, but the very last word as to cut and fit. And everything must be in keeping—the very best of shirts, collars, ties, hats, socks, shoes, underwear—." Kellogg caught Duncan's look and laughed. "Your laundress will report on everything, you know; so you must be impeccable."
"I'll be even that—whatever it is."
"Be very particular about having your shoes polished, shave daily and manicure yourself religiously—but don't let 'em catch you at it."
"Would they raid me if they did?"
"And then, my son, you must work."
Kellogg paused to let his lesson sink in. After a time Duncan observed plaintively: "I knew there was a catch in it somewhere. What kind of work?"
"It doesn't make any difference, so long as you get and hold some job in the town."
"Well, that lets me out. You'll have to sic some other poor devil on this glittering proposition of yours. I couldn't hold a job in—"
"Wait! I'll tell you how to do it in just a minute."