The package contained a doublet, of a material I had never seen before, very thin and glossy, of a texture like that of wasp’s nest but very tough. The doublet contained ten buttonholes, but only nine buttons; one button, and one only, was missing.
“I have here,” said my visitor coolly, “the missing button; and my master will be obliged if you will sew it on.”
Solario was sitting on his worktable busily plying the needle
He produced the button, a large ivory one, which, with the garment, he held up before me in his left hand.
“Please to hold out your left hand,” said he.
I did so, and with his own left hand he placed the garment and the button in mine.
“This doublet,” said he, “must not pass from one to another but by the left hand. Please to remember that. And now, adieu. I will return to-morrow. Meantime—”
He laid on my table a small purse, and bowing with sober courtesy he left the shop.
I turned up the purse, and a number of gold coins fell out, enough to pay for sewing on five hundred buttons. “Ah!” thought I. “At this rate I can well afford to gratify my new client’s whimsies.”