Cal was hoping that Spud would offer to accompany him, but Spud was looking over a few rusty golf clubs and waiting for Brad Miller to call and take him over to the links. So Cal went off by himself. He had never bought a suit of clothes unassisted and was filled with misgivings. But they were extraordinarily polite and attentive at Simmons’s Boston Store and it was all over before he knew it and he was trudging back to West House with a big pasteboard box under his arm. The clerk had offered to deliver it for him in the morning, but Cal, now that he had made the purchase, was eager to get it home and have a good look at himself in the mirror. The house was empty when he reached it, although Hoop and Clara and Molly were playing tennis outside. He tried the new suit on and looked it over. It was necessary to get on to a chair in order to see the bottoms of the trousers and when he saw them Cal had a vague suspicion that they terminated with far too many wrinkles. He wished he might have Ned’s opinion on them. At least, though, he had followed advice and bought a dark suit, and one, too, that wouldn’t easily show dirt. The goods was a strange mixture of black and white, the white consisting of faint lines forming a double plaid. In effect the suit was dark gray, almost an Oxford at a distance. The surface was quite rough and seemed to contain more than an ordinary share of tiny splinters of wood.
“I cal’late,” he told himself, “this sheep must have lived in a lumber yard!”
The clothes didn’t look nearly as natty as they had at the store and the coat had a perverse way of settling away from his neck at the back. Also, the vest—waistcoat, the man had called it—was decidedly tight across his chest. He wondered whether Marm couldn’t set the top button over a little for him. No, on the whole, he wasn’t nearly so satisfied with his purchase as he had been at the Boston Store, but he cal’lated it would do. He guessed it would have to! He got out of it and hung it up in the closet and stowed the box on a shelf. Tomorrow he would put it on and have Marm mend the suit he was wearing. Then he would have it cleaned, if they didn’t ask too much, and perhaps it would last him until Christmas. There was one thing to be said for his new clothes, he reflected as he made his way downstairs, and that was that they had cost him even less than he had dared hope for. Nine dollars and eighty-five cents wasn’t much for a whole suit. And he had almost eight dollars left! He cal’lated—no, he guessed he wasn’t such a poor shopper after all!
Downstairs he found that most of West House had returned and were watching the tennis. Only Dutch and Spud were absent.
“Hello, Cal,” was the greeting of The Fungus. “What you been doing? Grinding?”
“I’ve been down town,” answered Cal.
“Thunder! Wish I could go. But what’s the use when you haven’t any coin? Did you bring anything home with you? Any peanuts or chocolate, Cal?” But Cal shook his head.
“[I just bought a suit of clothes],” he said.