The only drawback to Dab's happiness that day was that his acquaintances hardly seemed to know him. He had had almost the same trouble with himself when he looked in the glass that morning.
Ordinarily, his wrists were several inches through his coat sleeves, and his ankles made a perpetual show of his stockings. His neck, too, seemed usually to be holding his head as far as possible from his coat collar, and his buttons had no favor to ask of his button-holes.
Now, even as the tailor had promised, he had received his "first fit." He seemed to himself, to tell the truth, to be covered up in a prodigal waste of nice cloth. Would he ever, ever grow too big for such a suit of clothes as that? It was a very painful thought, and he did his best to put it away from him.
Still, it was a little hard to have a young lady, whom he had known before she began to walk, remark to him: "Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me if Mr. Dabney Kinzer is here?"
"No, Jenny Walters," sharply responded Dab, "he isn't here."
"Why, Dabney!" exclaimed the pretty Jenny, "is that you? I declare, you've scared me out of a year's growth."
"I wish you'd scare me, then," said Dab. "Then my clothes would stay fitted."
Everything had been so well arranged beforehand, thanks to Mrs. Kinzer, that the wedding had no chance at all except to go off well. Ham Morris was rejoiced to find how entirely he was relieved of every responsibility.
"Don't worry about your house, Hamilton," the [Page 555] widow said to him the night before. "We'll go over there as soon as you and Miranda get away, and it'll be all ready for you by the time you get back."
"All right," said Ham. "I'll be glad to have you take the old place in hand. I've only tried to live in a corner of it. You don't know how much room there is. I don't, I must say."