Part 35 (1/2)

Directly after breakfast he had rushed up to his room and put on the clothes in which he had taken his involuntary bath. These garments, as will be remembered, had been obtained in haste, and were of the kind known in the trade as ”ready-mades,” and in this case composed of a well-glazed and pressed material, containing just enough wool to hold together a great deal of shoddy.

The dip in the river had been too severe a test for the suit, especially as Maria had been put a little more out of temper than usual by having the garments handed to her to dry.

Maria's mother was a washerwoman who lived outside Coleby on the common, and gained her income by acting as laundress generally for all who would intrust her with their family linen; but she called herself in yellow letters on a brilliant scarlet ground a ”clear starcher.”

During Maria's early life at home she had had much experience in the ways of was.h.i.+ng. She knew the smell of boiled soap. She had often watched the steam rising from the copper, and played among the clouds, and she well knew that the quickest way to dry anything that has been soaked is to give it a good wringing.

She had therefore given Dexter's new suit a good wringing, and wrung out of it a vast quant.i.ty of sticky dye which stained her hands. Then she had--grumbling bitterly all the time--given the jacket, vest, and trousers a good shake, and hung them over a clothes-horse as near to the fire as she could get them without singeing.

Mrs Millett told her to be sure and get them nice and dry, and Maria did get them ”nice and dry.”

And now Dexter had put them on and presented himself before Helen, suggesting that he looked a guy.

Certainly his appearance was suggestive of the stuffed effigy borne about on the fifth of November, for the garments were shrunken so that his arms and legs showed to a terrible extent, and Maria's wringing had given them curves and hollows never intended by the cutter, the worst one being in the form of a hump between the wearer's shoulders.

”The things are completely spoiled. You foolish boy to put them on.”

”Then I can't go to that other house.”

”Nonsense! You have the new clothes that came from the tailor's--those for which you were measured.”

”Yes,” said Dexter reluctantly; ”but it's a pity to put on them. I may get 'em spoiled.”

”Then you do not want to go, Dexter,” said Helen, smiling.

”No,” he cried eagerly. ”Ask him to let me stop here.”

”No, no,” said Helen kindly. ”Papa wishes you to go there; it is very kind of the Danbys to ask you, and I hope you will go, and behave very nicely, and make great friends with Edgar Danby.”

”How?” said Dexter laconically.

”Well, as boys generally do. You must talk to him.”

”What about?”

”Anything. Then you must play with him.”

”What at?”

”Oh, he'll be sure to suggest something to play at.”

”I don't think he will,” said Dexter thoughtfully. ”He don't look the sort of chap to.”

”Don't say chap, Dexter; say boy.”

”Sort of boy to play any games. He's what we used to call a soft Tommy sort of a chap--boy.”

”Oh no, no, no! I don't suppose he will be rough, and care for boisterous sports; but he may prove to be a very pleasant companion for you.”

Dexter shook his head.