“Clothes. A blue serge suit and a pair of flannel trousers. It’s set down there on the bill. Look here, you don’t mean that you’ve forgotten getting them, do you?”
“Quite.” Hugh yawned. “One buys a good many suits in the course of a year, you know.” He moved toward the door. “Sorry to hurry you, Mr. Fallow, but I’ve got an appointment.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” The man pocketed the money and buttoned his coat across that gaudy vest. “But, look here now, we don’t want any hard feelings over this—this little matter. We’d be sorry to lose your trade, Mr. Winslow, we would so. You don’t need to hurry none about that little balance. Just you take your time. And if you want anything in our line just you let us know. Always glad to serve you. I guess now, that suit you’re wearing the trousers of didn’t come from us, did it?”
“No, it happened to come from London; Ponderberry’s.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Fallow bent and examined the trousers with vast interest. There was a trace of awe in his voice as he nodded and whispered: “Nice stuff, nice, nice!”
“You’ll get the rest of that this week, Mr. Fallow,” said Hugh, opening the door invitingly. “As I said before, I’m sorry to hurry you, but——”
“That’s all right, Mr. Winslow, quite all right. I understand.” Mr. Fallow moved ponderously but quickly to the door. On the threshold, however, he stopped and fumbled in a pocket. “Just so you won’t forget us, Mr. Winslow,” he said with a smirk. “Our card, sir. We’ve got a nice line of woolens just arrived. Glad to have you look ’em over any time.”
“Thanks awfully. Good day.” Then, with the door half-closed, Hugh added: “Oh, I say, Mr. Fallow!”
“Yes?”
“I wish you’d tell me something if you don’t mind. It’s been bothering me a bit.”