"By George!" exclaimed Shorty. "You will be fixed up in style, won't you?"
"I should say so. Well, it's time, for I have been a fool long enough."
"Say, put 'em on. I want to see how you will look as a bridegroom."
"I don't want to rumple 'em."
"Go ahead and put 'em on. You know that in my present plight I can't go to see you step off."
"To please you, Shorty, I'll put 'em on, but you are the only person that could cause me to yield in this matter."
He put on the clothes.
"By George, Oscar, you look like a French dancing master. Well, I'm going to take a little nip."
He took a bottle out of his pocket and shook it. "Here's some old stuff a fellow gave me at Hopkinsville. Fifteen years old. Remember the time we struck that old negro for a pint of peach brandy? Well, here's to you. Ah, hah, hah. Would you try a little?"