Part 36 (1/2)

”Precisely,” said Coote.

Kipps thought, whistled a bar, and suddenly broached a question of conscience. ”I often wonder,” he said, ”whether I oughtn't to dress for dinner--when I'm alone 'ere.”

Coote protruded his lips and reflected. ”Not full dress,” he adjudicated; ”that would be a little excessive. But you should _change_, you know. Put on a mess jacket and that sort of thing--easy dress. That is what _I_ should do, certainly, if I wasn't in harness--and poor.”

He coughed modestly and patted his hair behind.

And after that the was.h.i.+ng bill of Kipps quadrupled, and he was to be seen at times by the bandstand with his light summer overcoat unb.u.t.toned to give a glimpse of his nice white tie. He and Coote would be smoking the gold-tipped cigarettes young Wals.h.i.+ngham had prescribed as _chic_, and appreciating the music highly. ”That's--puff--a very nice bit,”

Kipps would say, or better, ”That's nace.” And at the first grunts of the loyal anthem up they stood with religiously uplifted hats. Whatever else you might call them, you could never call them disloyal.

The boundary of Society was admittedly very close to Coote and Kipps, and a leading solicitude of the true gentleman was to detect clearly those ”beneath” him, and to behave towards them in a proper spirit.

”It's jest there it's so 'ard for me,” said Kipps. He had to cultivate a certain ”distance,” to acquire altogether the art of checking the presumption of bounders and old friends. It was difficult, Coote admitted. ”That's what, so harkward--I mean awkward.”

”I got mixed up with this lot 'ere,” said Kipps.

”You could give them a hint,” said Coote.

”'Ow?”

”Oh!--the occasion will suggest something.”

The occasion came one early closing night when Kipps was sitting in a canopy chair near the bandstand, with his summer overcoat fully open and a new Gibus pulled slightly forward over his brow, waiting for Coote.

They were to hear the band for an hour and then go down to a.s.sist Miss Coote and the freckled girl in trying over some of Beethoven's duets, if they remembered them, that is, sufficiently well. And as Kipps lounged back in his chair and occupied his mind with his favourite amus.e.m.e.nt on such evenings, which consisted chiefly in supposing that everyone about him was wondering who he was, came a rude rap at the canvas back and the voice of Pierce.

”It's nice to be a gentleman,” said Pierce, and swung a penny chair into position while Buggins appeared smiling agreeably on the other side and leant upon his stick. _He was smoking a common briar pipe!_

Two real ladies, very fas.h.i.+onably dressed and sitting close at hand, glanced quickly at Pierce, and then away again, and it was evident _their_ wonder was at an end.

”_He's_ all right,” said Buggins, removing his pipe and surveying Kipps.

”'Ello, Buggins!” said Kipps, not too cordially. ”'Ow goes it?”

”All right. Holiday's next week. If you don't look out, Kipps, I shall be on the Continong before you. Eh?”

”You going t' Boologne?”

”Ra-ther. Parley vous Francey. You bet.”

”_I_ shall 'ave a bit of a run over there one of these days,” said Kipps.

There came a pause. Pierce applied the top of his stick to his mouth for a s.p.a.ce and regarded Kipps. Then he glanced at the people about them.

”I say, Kipps,” he said in a distinct, loud voice, ”see 'er Ladys.h.i.+p lately?”

Kipps perceived the audience was to be impressed, but he responded half-heartedly, ”No, I 'aven't,” he said.

”She was along of Sir William the other night,” said Pierce, still loud and clear, ”and she asked to be remembered to you.”

It seemed to Kipps that one of the two ladies smiled faintly and said something to the other, and then certainly they glanced at Pierce. Kipps flushed scarlet. ”_Did_ she?” he answered.