Chapter XV: 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."