'What have you got there, William?' I inquired as he unfolded the
parcel.
'My first step in the evolution of character,' he replied solemnly, and
took out a pair of white spats, and some fawn-coloured gloves.
'You don't mean you're going to wear those?' gasped Henry.
'I am--abhorrent as they are to me,' rejoined William mournfully.
'You may call it building up character if you like,' said Henry
shortly, 'but I call it a lot of damned rot.' He pulled hard at his
cigar, and then added, 'You're suffering from softening of the brain,
my boy, or something of the sort.'
William looked at me in questioning despair, and in that moment my
heart softened towards him. In a flash I understood. He had so often
heard me urge Henry to wear white spats and light-coloured gloves,
though all my coercion and entreaty had been in vain. William had
thought by donning these things--which on him would have a grotesque
effect--he would win my favour. Poor fellow! I was quite touched by
his devotion, his absolutely hopeless passion.
'These things wouldn't be in keeping with the rest of you,' I said
gently; 'they require to be accompanied by all the--er--appurtenances
of the smart man.'
'Is--is--a beard an appurtenance?' he asked in a hollow voice.
'Not an appurtenance, William--perhaps a detriment would be the better
word.'
He emitted a sound that was half a groan.
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