“But, laddie,” said Ukridge, backed into a corner of the lobby apart from the throng, “be reasonable.”
I cleansed my bosom of a good deal of that perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.
“How could I guess that you would want the things? Look at it from my position, old horse. I knew you, laddie, a good true friend who would be delighted to lend a pal his dress-clothes any time when he didn’t need them himself, and as you weren’t there when I called, I couldn’t ask you, so I naturally simply borrowed them. It was all just one of those little misunderstandings which can’t be helped. And, as it luckily turns out, you had a spare suit, so everything was all right, after all.”
“You don’t think this poisonous fancy dress is mine, do you?”
“Isn’t it?” said Ukridge, astonished.
“It belongs to Bowles. He lent it to me.”
“And most extraordinarily well you look in it, laddie,” said Ukridge. “Upon my Sam, you look like a duke or something.”
“And smell like a second-hand clothes-store.”
“Nonsense, my dear old son, nonsense. A mere faint suggestion of some rather pleasant antiseptic. Nothing more. I like it. It’s invigorating. Honestly, old man, it’s really remarkable what an air that suit gives you. Distinguished. That’s the word I was searching for. You look distinguished. All the girls are saying so. When you came in just now to speak to me, I heard one of them whisper ‘Who is it?’ That shows you.”
“More likely ‘What is it?’”