“By the way, Pitt,” he said, “you’ve got a man of sorts, of course? One of those frightful fellows who forget to pack your collars! Bring him along, of course.”
“Thanks,” said Jimmy. “I will.”
The matter had scarcely been settled when the door opened and revealed the subject of discussion. Wearing a broad grin of mingled pride and bashfulness, and looking very stiff and awkward in one of the brightest tweed suits ever seen off the stage, Spike stood for a moment in the doorway to let his appearance sink into the spectator; then advanced into the room.
“How do dese strike you, boss?” he inquired genially, as Lord Dreever gaped in astonishment at this bright being.
“Pretty nearly blind, Spike,” said Jimmy. “What made you get those? We use electric light here.”
Spike was full of news.
“Say, boss, dat clothing-store’s a willy wonder, sure. De old mug what showed me round give me de frozen face when I came in foist. ‘What’s doin’?’ he says. ‘To de woods wit you! git de hook!’ But I hands out de plunks you give me, an’ tells him how I’m here to get a dude suit, an’ gee! if he don’t haul out suits by de mile. Give me a toist, it did, watching him. ‘It’s up to youse,’ says de mug. ‘Choose somet’ing. You pays de money, an’ we does de rest.’ So I says dis is de one, and I put down de plunks, an’ here I am, boss.”
“I noticed that, Spike,” said Jimmy. “I could see you in the dark.”
“Don’t you like de duds, boss?” inquired Spike anxiously.
“They’re the last word,” said Jimmy. “You’d make Solomon in all his glory look like a tramp cyclist.”