"
"And why not?"
"Because he _is_ a tailor."
"Oh?" said Barnabas.
"I mean that the clothes he makes are all stamped with his
individuality, as it were,--their very excellence damns them. They
are the clothes of a tailor instead of being simply a gentleman's
garments."
"Hum!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown at this, "it would seem
that dress can be a very profound subject, Peterby."
"Sir," answered Peterby, shaking his head, "it is a life study, and,
so far as I know, there are only two people in the world who
understand it aright; Beau Brummell was one, and, because he was the
Beau, had London and the World of Fashion at his feet."
"And who was the other?"
Peterby took himself by the chin, and, though his mouth was solemn,
the twinkle was back in his eye as he glanced at Barnabas.
"The other, sir," he answered, "was one who, until yesterday, was
reduced to the necessity of living upon poached rabbits."
Here Barnabas stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling.
"I remember you told me you were the best valet in the world,"
said he.
"It is my earnest desire to prove it, sir."
"And yet," said Barnabas, with his gaze still turned ceiling-wards,
"I would have you--even more than this, Peterby.
Pages:
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239