CONCERNING AN OLD SUIT OF CLOTHES AND A NEW ONE
MR. HARDING made no remark when told of Mr. Dawson's presents
to Mousey and John Monday beyond advising them, in a few curt words,
to take care of their money.
"I don't know how I shall spend my half-crown, because there are so
many things I should like to do with it, and I can't make up my mind
which would be best," Mousey confided to Maria the day following her
uncle's visit. "I should like to give something towards the hospital.
Mrs. Thomas says she will take Nellie and me to see the sick children
one Saturday afternoon."
"What's that?" asked Mr. Harding, entering the room at that minute,
and catching only the last part of the foregoing sentence. "What sick
children are you speaking about, eh?"
"The ones at the hospital, Cousin Robert. They have a ward to
themselves—a ward is a large room with a lot of beds in it, Mrs.
Thomas says—and you won't mind my going to see them, will you?"
"Not in the least," he replied.
"Those who are well enough sit up in bed, and wear scarlet flannel
jackets," Mousey proceeded, "and they have boards to fit across the
beds like little tables, where they can keep their toys. There is a
hand-organ in the ward, and a musical-box, too."
"Toys and such-like things don't make them suffer less," said Mr.
Harding gruffly, as he took up the newspaper from the table and
commenced to read.
Maria, having finished her business of dusting the room, went away,
but only to return with the shabby suit of clothes which Mr. Harding
usually wore on Sundays. Standing in front of her master, she held the
garments up before him.
"I want you to look at these," she said, with a sound of indignation
in her tones. "You told me to give them a good cleaning, and I've done
so. I've brushed them, and sponged them, and tried to make them look
decent, but I might as well have remained idle for all the good
I've done!"
"What is it you're saying?" cried the old man irritably. "I'm well
aware you cannot turn old garments into new; but there's a deal of
wear left in those clothes yet."
"Look at them!" Maria exclaimed. "Do look at them, sir! The silk's all
worn off the buttons of the coat, the sleeves are frayed at the wrist,
and the lining's in holes."
"Pooh, nonsense! And even supposing the clothes are in the condition
you say, what does it matter? I'm ashamed to hear you talk in such a
manner, Maria! I thought you a sensible woman—not one to set store on
fine clothes."
"Fine clothes!" Maria echoed. "Well, I was never accused of a love
for fine clothes before; but I own I like to see folks dressed
respectably. Fine clothes, indeed!"
As though fearing she would be led to say too much, she turned hastily
away and left the room, after laying her master's garments on the
table.
"Maria is in a bad temper," Mr. Harding remarked; "something must have
put her out."
"Does it cost much to buy a suit of clothes, Cousin Robert?" Mousey
questioned.
"Several pounds," he replied; "that is, a good suit."
"So much money as that? Look at these buttons. They are shabby,
aren't they?"
The little girl had approached the table, and was examining the
garments of which Maria had spoken so disparagingly.
"Y—es," Mr. Harding allowed; "perhaps they could be recovered."
"And the coat is so faded across the shoulders," Mousey continued;
"it really is very shabby. Why don't you have a new one, Cousin
Robert?" she plucked up courage to ask.
"Because a new one would cost money," he replied sharply, "and I've no
intention of squandering on fine clothes what I've worked hard
to gain."
"I thought you had plenty of money," Mousey said, looking at him with
a puzzled expression on her face. "Oh, forgive me, Cousin Robert!"
she pleaded, as he darted a fierce glance at her. "Do forgive me if I
ought not to have said that, but, indeed, I meant no harm!"
"Is it your place to question me?" he demanded. "What does it matter
to you what clothes I choose to wear?"
"I'm very sorry to have made you so angry," Mousey said, the tears
flooding her eyes; "but I—I can't bear to hear unkind things said
about you, Cousin Robert, just because you dress differently from
other people. And what can I say when they laugh at your shabby hat
and green coat? I don't like you any the less because your clothes
are old, for you're always good to me—but others don't understand."
"What do folks say about me?" he asked curiously. "Come, child, don't
cry like that! You can't say? Humph! That means you don't like to say,
I suppose. Very well, I'm not going to press you for an answer.
Good gracious! To think that all this fuss is about an old suit
of clothes."
"Are you angry with me?" she asked timidly, drying her eyes and
glancing at him anxiously.
"No, no," he responded impatiently. "Here, let me fold up those
garments of mine, and you can carry them upstairs to my room."
Perhaps Mr. Harding had not realised before how disgracefully shabby
his best Sunday suit had become; but he certainly did so now as he
examined the clothes with critical eyes. He had grown so into the way
of saving that it had become habitual to him never to spend a penny
upon himself if he could possibly help it. It was a new experience to
know that there was someone who actually cared enough about him to be
hurt because his clothes were old and worn; and Mousey's tears, and
evident distress at people's remarks upon his personal appearance, had
moved him more than he cared to acknowledge, even to himself. After
all, why should he begrudge himself a new suit of clothes? He had
plenty of money, as the child had told him.
"There, my dear," he said, as he handed her his despised old suit,
neatly folded, "you can inform Maria that I'll pay a visit to a
tailor, and order a fine new suit to be sent home by Sunday. Tell her
she can give those old things to the next beggar that comes to the
door."
Mousey ran off to the kitchen, where she found Maria still indignant
at having been accused of a love for fine clothes, and delivered
Mr. Harding's message word for word. Maria looked as though she could
hardly believe she had heard aright.
"What shall I hear next, I wonder?" she questioned sarcastically.
"What made him change his mind? There, put those things down anywhere!
I'm to give them to a beggar, am I? It strikes me there are few
beggars who would thank me for such a gift."
Mr. Harding proved as good as his word, for late on Saturday night
a large parcel arrived, which Maria silently placed before her master
on the parlour table. Mousey and John Monday were present; the latter
offered a penknife to cut the knots in the cord which fastened the
parcel, but it was promptly declined.
"I never cut a string in my life," Mr. Harding said impressively,
"and, consequently, I have never had to purchase any. You should learn
to be careful over small matters."
"Yes, Cousin Robert," Mousey answered, as the boy made no response.
The knots were untied at last. Then came another paper, with another
cord, and, finally, the new suit of clothes was uncovered. After
examining it carefully, Mr. Harding allowed the others to see his
purchase.
"It's very like Uncle Dick's best suit," Mousey said, after she had
felt the material. "You'll wear it to-morrow, won't you, Cousin
Robert?"
"I suppose so," he replied; "but I shan't be nearly so comfortable as
I should be in my old suit."
"Oh, but you'll soon get accustomed to this," she assured him
brightly.
"Well, well, perhaps I shall. Here, Maria, take the things upstairs,
and put them away—carefully, mind! You won't have occasion to grumble
any more."
"I don't think I grumbled without a cause," Maria responded; "you must
know that well enough, sir."
"Perhaps I do," he acknowledged, "perhaps I do. What's that you're
saying, Mousey?—that you hope it won't rain to-morrow? I suppose
you're looking forward to seeing me in my fine clothes, eh?" and he
rubbed his hands together in a way habitual to him when he was in a
particularly good humour.
Whilst this conversation had been going on, John Monday had remained
perfectly silent, watching his master curiously.
"I thought I knew him pretty well," the boy told himself, "but I was
wrong. I don't know him yet."